


Simple Favorites

by pocketwitch



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-30
Updated: 2006-12-29
Packaged: 2017-12-10 18:03:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 24,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/788562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pocketwitch/pseuds/pocketwitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This story was my baby for a long time and I still have a lot of fondness for it. I couldn't have done it without <span class="ljuser i-ljuser"></span><a href="http://mesoterica.livejournal.com/profile"><img class="i-ljuser-userhead"/></a><a class="i-ljuser-username" href="http://mesoterica.livejournal.com/"></a><b>mesoterica</b>, who was my amazing beta and one-woman cheerleading squad throughout the process.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Simple Favorites

This was, with no doubt whatsoever, her favorite place to be.

Her actual physical location didn’t make much of a difference, as long as she was _here_. Surrounded by the exquisite legs of one President of the Twelve Colonies, hunkered down and nestled between those legs, hiding as though deep in her own private forest.

There wasn’t a thing to worry about here; at least nothing that she wasn’t thoroughly confident in her ability to handle. There was only the feel of skin beneath her hands; sometimes the smooth, tender skin of Laura’s thighs, sometimes the wet, snug ridges of Laura wrapped around her fingers, straining for what Kara was far from ready to give.

Not yet.

There were no life and death situations here; no, the steady building of urgency hadn’t the slightest thing to do with death. It had only to do with the gradual shift from _want_ to _need_ , and the total uselessness of _demand_ when dealing with Kara Thrace.

Of course, Laura knew that. Had known it for quite some time. Somehow it never stopped her from trying. Maybe she only tried because she knew it wouldn’t work. Maybe she only tried because she knew how it reinforced Kara’s resolve.

This was, with no doubt whatsoever, Kara’s favorite place to be. It had been since she’d first discovered it; on Kobol of all places, muddy and cold and frantic, the both of them. Rushed and fumbling and awkward. It would have been absolutely horrid had it not been so excruciatingly spectacular.

Kara had been convinced that it would never happen again; it had been borne of fear, need for comfort, the individual burden of every damned soul in the fleet pressing on Laura’s heart until she had to let go somehow and couldn’t bear to do it alone. Or perhaps was afraid of what form release might take alone.

It had been wet and dirty and fast and wonderfulwonderful _wonderful_ and Kara had sworn to herself that if ever again given the opportunity to visit such a sacred space that she wouldn’t rush, wouldn’t fumble wouldn’t fear; that she would treat the visitation of such a place as the sacrament that it was.

Perhaps it had begun as simple escapism; perhaps simple escapism always would be a significant factor. What Kara hadn’t taken into account that night on Kobol was that those 47,858 individual weights weren’t planning on letting the President rest any time in the near future, and a means of escape, once discovered, is not easily relinquished.

There had been a second visit, and Kara’s oath was not forgotten. She had explored Laura languorously, tasting her with purposeful slowness, dipping into her with each finger and lapping greedily before ever allowing her mouth to touch Laura’s flesh. Nibbling and plunging and nuzzling every available fold of skin before ever allowing her tongue to touch Laura’s clit.

By the time she was ready to consider allowing Laura release, the tone and timbre of the President’s vocalizations had changed … drastically. The initially gentle, almost docile moans and whimpers had grown louder, harsher, and, finally, been replaced entirely with babbling strings of entirely undignified names and demands, and Kara had heeded them, had given what was asked of her. When it arrived, barely moments after Kara began to suckle her in earnest, Laura’s orgasm was unparalleled.

The time between the second and third visit had been much, much shorter than the time between the first and second.

There was, of course, a third and a fourth … over time, as she began to lose count, Kara grew to know the landscape of her favorite place with exceedingly intimate familiarity. In her quest to spend as much time as possible there, to stretch every stolen moment to its limit, she learned an incredible thing about Laura Roslin.

“Your mouth,” the President had whispered, eyes glazed, voice ragged, sweat-damp hair plastered across her face, “is my favorite place.”

After that Kara no longer gave in to the demands, no longer heeded the rough pleas in language more befitting a viper pilot than the President. After that Kara’s only goal was to know her place. To learn the meaning of _leisurely_. To teach Laura the meaning of _wait_. To discover every possible strategy for easing Laura up the ramp of wantwantwant _need_ and keeping her there at the tip-top for always just a bit longer than Laura thought she could stand without going mad. The rhythmic dance of moremoremore _less_ moremore _lessless_ more _lesslessless_ that kept Laura in a seemingly never-ending fit of writhing and clutching and twisting.

What she learned was that Laura adored that place of in-between, almost-having not-quite-getting, the place where the blood-roaring intensity would not stop until Kara decided it should. The place of pleasure and tension so perfect it was near unbearable, and bearing it took every shred of concentration, every spare thought, every bit of being that was, at every other waking moment, so unwaveringly focused on those forty-some-thousand pressure points bearing down on her without end.

Far better to have Kara’s tongue bearing down on her and then retreating, teasing without end, giving just shy of enough. Laura’s favorite place was one where she was not safe and not peaceful but _simple_. Kara’s relentless torment filled her with a need so great that she only had room for one need, and that need all but consumed her every single time.

The release of the need itself was almost as powerful as the release of orgasm.

Almost.

Kara prided herself on drawing it out a bit longer each time, and the longer they went, the more forceful was Laura’s coming. Kara had, at times, left their encounters with rather interestingly placed bruises on her arms, back, shoulders … and at times she swore she left with a few hunks of hair less than she’d originally had. The violence she endured when Laura came was directly proportional to the smugness of her smile afterward.

This was, with no doubt whatsoever, her favorite place to be. A temple to which she would bring her offerings for as long as the gods (and one goddess in particular) allowed. The smile on Laura’s face as she collapsed onto the sofa, thoroughly exhausted, gave Kara hope that this would be a long, long time.


	2. Kobol

It really had been an astounding surprise. Laura certainly hadn’t been in any frame of mind for a seduction – not that that word really came anywhere near describing what had happened. Tryst? Rendezvous? Quickie? No.

Somehow the word ‘sacrament’ kept passing through her mind but she couldn’t quite put her finger on why. Nor could she dismiss the thought, despite her constant internal argument that it was a near blasphemous one, that she had blood on her hands, that she was responsible for the death of a _priest_ for frak’s sake, that no god alive would consider her pleasure to be any suitable offering.

And yet she hadn’t pushed the girl away. Hadn’t thought, at first, that there would be any reason to.

Laura had arisen in the night, had left the solitude of her canopy, had needed desperately to feel starlight. She walked amongst the trees, walked without fear, walked with only a bone-deep desire to feel connected to something, anything, anything _alive_. Anything but the blood she would never stop seeing, anything but the omnipresent numbers that so often seemed like subtractions waiting to happen, waiting and watching, always watching to see whether _she_ could do anything to stop it.

She couldn’t tonight.

Tonight it seemed that all she could do was lean against a tree and tremble, alone until, suddenly, she wasn’t.

“Madam President?”

She whirled around, heaved a breath. “Lieutenant? I didn’t hear you coming … “

“I didn’t mean to startle you. I definitely wasn’t tiptoeing.”

“I just wasn’t … listening.”

A step closer. A hand raised just slightly, then dropped awkwardly back to her side, plastered to her thigh. “Are you alright?”

Sometimes Laura could scarcely believe how honesty had ceased to come easily. This time it took exhaustion. It took desperation. It took the all too constant weight of her own death, more real now in her quest than it had ever been; more pressing as a prophecy than it had ever managed as simply a disease.

It took this one girl, this girl so full of conflict that it nearly spilled out of her every time she opened her mouth. This one girl standing under the forest with shadows across her face and eyes, eyes that had opened so wide as she handed Laura the arrow; eyes that had looked at Laura with guarded hope that made it far too painfully clear how often she had been stricken down.

“No. I’m not.”

Another step. Both arms almost raising this time, falling back. A sparse chuckle, a toss of her head. “Me either.”

And then, all at once, Kara closed the gap, wrapped her arms around Laura, pulled her into a rough hug, and Laura returned it, remembering their last tentative hug, determined not to give this girl any further reason to suspect her that her embrace was unwelcome.

There they remained, leaning against each other, clinging and trembling, and the moments were long, the time slow, the continual merry-go-round of worries and strategies and voices and visions in Laura’s mind finding itself, for once, starting to lose its speed.

That, perhaps, was why Laura kissed Kara. The quiet in her mind was so sudden, so intoxicating, so deeply unexpected, so very clearly brought on by this girl, this girl and her eyes and her arms and her smell like sweat and dirt and open air. This girl who hesitated for only the barest second before kissing her back, and with an enthusiasm that Laura never would have expected.

With a whipcrack that Laura felt inside so distinctly that she almost heard it, the slow, forever moment of the embrace was gone and time was _moving_. Moving with Kara who spun her around and pushed her back against the nearest tree, pressed into her, dove into her mouth as though she hadn’t a second to lose. Moving with Kara’s hands pushing under her shirt, covering her breasts so briefly that Laura squeaked into Kara’s mouth, suddenly feeling the need for moremore _more_ , until she realized that those hands were now unfastening her pants, pushing them down, and now there was rough bark against her bare bottom, and she couldn’t help but laugh, or at least start to laugh, but then Kara’s hand was between her legs, fingers _right there_ , and there was no laughter anywhere to be found.

“Please,” she murmured, barely a breath.

“Yes.” Bold, certain, unwavering.

Kara eased her down gently, and the ground was cold and wet and rocky, and her angle was strange as she tried to stretch out while Kara tugged off her shoes, then fumbled with her clothing until she was lying half bare under the open Kobol sky.

Fast, this was all so fast, but she knew as well as Kara that they could be stumbled upon at any moment, and that seemed as good an excuse as any for her to refrain from protesting Kara’s apparent desire to get her off _right frakking now_. Besides, one did not tell Kara Thrace to slow down. One did not stand in the way of a force of nature, one only chose whether or not to accept the ride.

Laura hadn’t wandered far from the camp initially and she struggled to hang onto the rational part of her mind that remembered this as Kara’s tongue plunged deeper inside her than she had realized a tongue could go, lapped and twisted pushed while Laura gritted her teeth and willed her throat to silence.

Before she could trust herself with control enough to release her voice to ask for more, Kara’s tongue was on her clit and Laura was biting the insides of her cheeks, shaking so hard that she could barely believe how well Kara remained focused, circling her clit in hard, hungry, deliberate laps, fingers pushing deeply inside her, and under this kind of assault there was nothing to do but crumble.

Crumble she did. Her fingers dug deep into the dirt, raking up grass and roots and leaves, her heels following suit, pushing deep grooves into the moist ground, her entire body convulsing in deep, racking heaves of pleasure, her brain wrestling with her voice, so long denied this joy, struggling to _internalize internalize internalize_ , the uncontrollable thrashing of her body at last buying off the debt of her silence.

And, in those moments, as the need for release grew to the point that it dominated her thoughts with its pounding insistence, the whirling chaos of her mind, the spinning that had slowed, just a bit, with their embrace, came to a grinding halt. For those moments, there was silence.

When her eyes finally regained their ability to focus, she looked up at Kara, certain that her expression was a sharply painted tribute to her gratitude.

And what she saw in Kara’s face was clearly chiseled regret.

“Kara,” she rasped, voice still protesting her earlier denial of its freedom, something in her stomach curling into stone, “I … “

“I’m sorry.”

“No, I’m the one … “

“I’m sorry I rushed so much. I … have that problem sometimes.”

And then Laura did laugh, softly, her head light with relief, giddiness, the absurdity of being half naked in the woods of Kobol, the temporary absence of pressure on her heart. Laughed and leaned forward, kissed those glistening lips, kissed them slowly, lapping herself from Kara’s mouth.

“Don’t ever apologize for doing exactly what I ask of you.”

A flicker of a smile, just a flicker, but so bright it nearly hurt Laura’s eyes in this dark place.

“I won’t. Sir.”

Laura snorted in response, eased herself up off the ground, tried to brush the dirt from her skin.

“Now, help me find my shoes.”


	3. Benediction

The fact that this meeting was taking place in Laura’s office rather than in her quarters meant nothing but that the President was playing her hand close. Perhaps Kara was not the most politically minded person in the fleet but she was a long, long way from stupid, and she understood a thing or two about strategy.

In the past few weeks there had been no acknowledgement of their … interaction … on Kobol, and Kara had remained convinced that there would be neither acknowledgement nor a repeat of the occurrence. She had been certain of that ever since the day following, when Laura had treated her with no less than the usual formality, not even the tiniest hint of a change, no secret flicker in her eyes saying ‘we are different now, you and I.’

After their encounter Kara had helped Laura re-clothe herself, had helped her to wipe away as much of the mud and the grass as was possible in the dark, had smoothed her hair and kissed her again, and Laura had kissed her back, wrapped her arms around Kara’s waist and kissed her lips, cheeks, forehead. Kissed her and sent her on her way, then lingered several moments before returning to her own canopy.

And that had been it. Since then there was nothing given, and Kara took that to mean that there was nothing more there for her. She had made her offering and it had been accepted, but no favor had been granted her.

Until today.

It was the first time they had spoken alone since Kobol. The meeting itself was as valid and legitimate as any meeting ever was. The President had questions about her time on Caprica, about the situations, about the survivors.

Kara tried not to sound as though any one survivor was of particular importance. Maybe it was just an illusion that the President, all subtle smiles and knowing peeks over the top of her glasses, knew everything. Surely she couldn’t know everything.

If it was an illusion it was a very well maintained one, and though the logical part of Kara’s mind argued that it _had_ to be an illusion, she wasn’t entirely sure whether it was the awestruck part or the cynical part that was certain the illusion wasn’t at all accidental.

The meeting was valid, most certainly. Kara had no doubts that she would be here, answering these same questions, having these same discussions about strategy, even if that one brief connection had never been made.

Of course they would be having this meeting. But would the President be toying with her hair like that?

Kara hadn’t noticed it at first; it seemed like a normal enough gesture; one hand raised to twirl a finger around one particular wave that rested right at the base of her shoulder, barely tickled her collarbone. Perhaps Kara wouldn’t have noticed it if she hadn’t been paying such close attention; if she hadn’t been watching the President so carefully, careful not only of watching but of showing, careful to hold her own hand close, careful to notice Laura’s reaction if she slipped up.

This was a game of cards, and Kara hoped to the gods that she wasn’t the only one playing.

That fear was starting to diminish as she counted the fourth time that the President had reached for that one stray wave, then lowered her hand quickly, as if aware that the repetition of the movement was beginning to suspiciously resemble a nervous tic. A nervous tic, of course, implying that she had reason to be nervous.

Eventually all of the President’s questions were answered, and yet it seemed that Laura was finding new ways to word issues that had already been sufficiently covered.

She was stalling.

Frak card games.

“Are you waiting for me to kiss you, Madame President?’

“Excuse me?” Laura’s eyebrows raised, but she had the decency not to look shocked, though Kara was certain she detected a faint, creeping blush.

“Since you were the one to kiss me first before, I thought you might be waiting to see if _I_ would start something. Doesn’t really seem fair, since I was the one who was so damned enthusiastic the last time.”

“My enthusiasm wasn’t clear enough for you? Do you think it was easy keeping quiet? Do you have any idea how long it took me to clean the dirt from under my fingernails?”

Kara couldn’t help grinning at that, and Laura leaned forward against her desk, took off her glasses.

And suddenly Kara was in the room with a different woman. A woman whose torso was held at such an angle that just the tiniest hint of lace peeked out from behind her blouse. A woman who looked directly at her, eyes brightly beckoning. A woman with a voice like melted dark chocolate.

“Were you planning on kissing me, Lieutenant Thrace? If you weren’t, I’ve quite a few things I could be attending to right now.”

And Kara laughed. Laughed wholeheartedly and stood from her chair, moved around to the other side of the desk. The President’s side. Grabbed her chair and spun it around, spun Laura around to face her, stood looking down at her.

“Oh, don’t you dare. You think you need to seduce me?”

And for a second, Laura was thoroughly flummoxed. And that, to Kara, was far sexier than any seduction.

Kara’s kiss was long and ravenous and insistent, tongue lapping at tongue, lips, teeth, everything within its reach, not stopping until they both gasped for breath, Laura flushed and sheepish, Kara bright and certain.

“You’d better not have anything you have to do right away, because I’m not rushing with you this time.”

A strangled swallow and a wide-eyed nod were answer enough.

Kara kneeled down, reached first for Laura’s feet, aiming to take off her shoes, until she realized that they were off already, stashed under the desk.

“Efficient,” Kara commented, her hands trailing up Laura’s calves, stopping to tickle behind her knees.

“Comfortable,” Laura murmured, starting to sink just a bit in her chair.

“Not for long,” Kara purred, hands moving up further still, thumbs hooking under Laura’s skirt, pushing it up over Laura’s hips as Laura raised herself up just enough to accommodate.

“You want to make me uncomfortable?” Laura’s voice was already wavering, heavy with breath as she pushed her nylons and panties down to her knees before settling back into her chair.

“I want to make you beg.” Kara pulled Laura’s intimates the rest of the way off, then scooted in closer, Laura’s knees pressed against the sides of her torso.

Laura’s laugh was nerves and lust and needing and fearing. “You’re quite fond of the idea of stripping me down, aren’t you?”

“As fond as you are of the idea of letting me.” Her hands raised to unfasten the buttons of Laura’s blouse.

A wracking shiver as Kara’s hands barely brushed across her breasts, her back already arching toward more contact. “Ideas aren’t often …” A pause to gasp as Kara’s thumbs rested far too lightly against her nipples ... “Easy to bring into reality.”

“Nothing’s easy.” Kara’s tone was conversational as she started to rub Laura’s nipples in lazy circles, grinning as Laura started to squirm, her head leaning back against the chair. “Except me. And maybe you, but I don’t have enough evidence to be sure.”

Laura snorted, looked down at Kara with a raised eyebrow, somehow managing a distinctly schoolteacherish expression, the one reserved for the class clown who is admittedly witty but also _thisclose_ to earning a long stay in detention.

That didn’t stop her, however, from wrapping her legs around Kara, drawing her even closer.

It most certainly didn’t stop her from letting out a greedy moan when her bra was at last unfastened and pushed up out of the way of Kara’s mouth, which was now attached to her nipple. Kara’s tongue flicked and lapped and curled, her teeth occasionally nipping just the tiniest bit, just enough to make Laura gasp at the change in sensation.

Laura dropped one hand to Kara’s waist, slid it underneath her clothes, rested it on her back, palm to skin. Kara stayed there, at Laura’s breasts, mouth suckling one, fingers tweaking the other, occasionally switching off for good measure, until Laura’s nails, digging harder with each of Laura’s increasingly ragged breaths, felt as if they were close to breaking the skin.

She pulled back then, pulled back and admired the flush of Laura’s face, the rapid rise and fall of her chest, the flash of hunger that made her eyes no longer the eyes of a President, but rather the eyes of a woman whose needs were far more immediate, whose plans far more primal, whose actions far more urgent.

Urgent like the push of Laura’s hips against Kara, the unwinding of her legs from around Kara’s chest, now splaying them out wantonly, leaving no doubt as to where she wanted Kara to focus her attention next.

And Kara complied.

At her own pace.

She cupped Laura first, feeling the warmth and moisture against her palm, the heel of her hand pressing ever so slightly, her thumb tracing circles that were far too wide, missing Laura’s clit by that perfect distance, just enough to drive her crazy without giving her even the barest hint of satisfaction.

And Laura’s hips wriggled, crazy indeed, wriggled and shifted in hopes of catching more, but Kara was watching too closely, Kara was far, far too determined to keep a steady pace.

When Kara slid her first finger into Laura, she couldn’t help but groan at finding the President slick with wanting.

When she pressed that finger deep inside Laura, then draw it out slowly, purposefully pressing upward along the sensitive tissue, Laura couldn’t help but whimper.

When she popped her whole finger into her mouth, practically growling with enjoyment as she sucked Laura’s flavor from her own skin, Laura’s whimpers turned into weak, desperate mewls.

And then Kara repeated this process with her second finger. And her third. And so on, thumbs included, ending with her left-hand pinkie, seeming to take more care with each finger than she had with the last.

Somewhere around the seventh finger, she noticed something fascinating. Laura’s cries and moans had gradually lost the tone of meek, helpless neediness, and were now growing a steadily rougher edge. By the time Kara’s final finger entered Laura, the President responded with a sharp thrust of her hips, a guttural groan of frustration as her urging failed to affect Kara’s pace.

After each finger had been thoroughly tasted, Kara grinned up at Laura, finally scooting back and ducking down, finally bringing her head between Laura’s thighs, moving in close enough that Laura could feel hot breath against her craving skin.

“This is what you want, isn’t it?”

“YES, gods damn it, yes …”

But they were not on Kobol anymore, and Kara was still in no hurry. There was no immediate diving and lapping and devouring. There was Kara’s teeth nibbling gently at Laura’s labia, tugging and brushing quick, playful strokes with her tongue. There was Kara’s nose nudging against Laura’s skin, inhaling her scent with relish. There was Kara’s tongue, nowhere near where Laura so fervently needed it, broadly moving against Laura’s opening without actually venturing inside.

There was Kara, thoroughly enjoying the fever pitched frustration she was causing, and there was Laura, clinging white-knuckled to the arms of her chair, her patience long since spent.

“Damn it, Kara …”

“Hmm?” A long, lazy lick … tip of her tongue just _barely_ tapping Laura’s clit, the miniscule touch practically sending Laura through the roof.

“FRAK!” She heaved a ragged breath, tried to grind against Kara’s face, only to find Kara’s face a bit further back than it had been just a moment ago.

“Something the matter?” This time she blew against Laura’s clit, reveling in the resulting tremble.

“I need to … gods damn it, I can’t … going to drive me crazy, you teasing bitch …”

The frenzied babbling continued as Kara continued to assault Laura’s clit with various touches, always either ever-so-light or ever-so-brief, never anything close to enough. Until, in her last bid for Laura’s sanity, she rested the flat of her tongue _right there_ , rested it and pressed it firmly … pressed it firmly and did not move.

And that was it.

“Let. Me. Frakking. COME.”

Her command was unquestionable. She was a woman whose demands were answered, and she was through asking.

Kara’s response was rapid and instinctual. At last she fastened her mouth directly where Laura wanted it, her tongue working firm, rhythmic circles, her lips suckling hungrily.

And Laura was so ready, had been so ready, had been _rightthere_ for so long that that was all it took.

Laura came and Kara had never experienced anything like it. Laura came, her entire body spasming with each wave of a pleasure so intense that it held her in its grip like a seizure, tossing her and rending her and her toes were curled and her fingers clenched and she chanted Kara’s name like a mantra, chanted because she knew she couldn’t scream but gods _damn_ she couldn’t manage silence this time. Laura came, bucking against Kara’s face so roughly that Kara wondered how she would manage to explain a bruised nose in the morning. Laura came, head tossing back and forth, hair flying everywhere, damp and curling with sweat. Laura came, and came, and came.

And then Laura collapsed, limply, into the chair, her limbs seeming to unwind, falling where they may. Laura collapsed, and closed her eyes.

And smiled.

And Kara’s grin was so wide that Laura could feel the brightness of it through closed lids.

“Did you call me a bitch, Madame President?”

“Mmm-hmm. Meant it, too.”

“I wonder what else I can get you to call me.”

Laura snorted. “You want to get me even closer to madness?”

“I want to get you closer to a lot of things.”

Laura’s eyes opened, studied Kara. Studied her and then raised a hand, rested it gently against Kara’s head.

_Benediction._

“You may, Kara Thrace.” She looked away then. “But you haven’t got a lot of time.”

Kara rose to her feet, leaned down and kissed the President’s forehead.

“I never do.”


	4. Temple

After Kobol she had told herself that it must never happen again.

She had told herself this repeatedly. And yet it had happened again. And yet it was happening again. And yet, she strongly suspected, it would happen again. She had tried to convince herself that her own needs were unimportant in the face of her responsibilities, and yet here she was, her own needs consuming her.

Here she was, flat on her back in her own bed, flat on her back and naked - _completely_ naked, and when was the last time she’d been completely naked in the presence of another? Whenever it had been, it clearly hadn’t been anywhere close to as memorable as this.

_This_ being the absolute, thorough and pure abandon she felt as she writhed beneath Kara, the majority of Kara’s fingers inside her; three from her right hand pressed deeply between Laura’s legs, thrusting in a quirky, unpredictable non-rhythm of fastroughslowsoft that had Laura panting and chewing restlessly on the three fingers of Kara’s left hand that she had in her mouth, lapping and slurping and occasionally biting … not too hard, though; she had learned her lesson about that. She bit down once, in her greed, when Kara refused to be hurried; Kara punished her by slowing her pace drastically, simultaneously brushing her thumb across Laura’s clit in a brief series of featherlight touches, just enough to make Laura’s body thrum with a sudden upsurge of need; need that Kara clearly had no intention of sating so soon.

“Calm down, Madam President,” Kara said in a playful tone that made it far too obvious how much she was enjoying this. Although Laura felt about as far from calm as she could imagine in a situation that did not involve possible disaster, she obeyed; though not without groaning and bucking in protest, not without letting the heat in her eyes lash out toward Kara, knowing that her expression would make Kara gasp and shift and, if only for a moment, forget her determination to hold her pace.

And Kara did gasp, and Kara did shift, and Kara did forget … but only for a moment, and a moment was nowhere near enough, and then she slowed again, and that moment had only made it worse, as Laura had known that it would, had known but had instigated it anyway, and now dealt with the resulting frustration by seizing fistfuls of sheets, her whimpers vibrating against Kara’s fingers.

“No more rushing, remember?” Kara’s tone was now as gentle as her smile was teasing; she was tenderness and smugness, power and pleasure, rebellious reverence. “We’re not on Kobol anymore.”

Kobol.

She was weak on Kobol, perhaps weaker than she’d ever been. She was leading her people into the wilderness and not at all certain that any of them would live to see … not even the promised land, but the supposed clue that may, in some distant future, lead them marginally closer to said promised land.

She was leading her people and she had already lost one, one who was far more skilled at fending off Laura’s lapses in faith than Laura herself could manage to be.

She was leading her people and then she herself was leaderless.

Tired, frightened, grieving, doubting, cold, alone, and _weighted_ , so heavily weighted, and the whirring in her brain had not stopped, had not let her rest, until Lieutenant Thrace … Kara …

Weak. She was weak, and it must never happen again.

It was easy to hold her resolve in the burst of chaosactivityreuniondiscovery that began the following day and did not let up until well after she’d been deposited back onto the Colonial One, her title no longer an object of military contest.

It was easy to hold her resolve when she had crises to attend to, a circumstance which was very unlikely to disappoint her with a sudden and unexpected calm.

Mostly, it was easy to hold her resolve when Kara was nowhere to be seen. However, “when Kara was nowhere to be seen” was, as days passed, narrowed down to mean not only when Kara was not physically present but when Laura’s mind was occupied with other matters so thoroughly that it had no capacity left to conjure her.

Given that Laura’s mind seemed increasingly determined to do just that, the circumstances in which it was easy to hold her resolve were becoming gradually more and more difficult to obtain.

Then there were the nights.

Nights of fighting her brain to keep it from reminding her how Kara had kissed her with such relish, kissed her as though she wanted to be doing nothing so much as that in that moment. Reminding her how Kara had raced to give her pleasure, had laid her down on the altar of mud and rocks and grass and whispered prayers into her second heart until her mindbodysoul had room left for nothing save her own prayer of _please, please, please_.

Reminding her how Kara had looked at her the next day; subtly, as aware as Laura was of the need for discretion, but undeniably searching.

Searching as though she wanted more. Searching as though one fast, rough frak in the woods was not enough to prove to her that The President of the Twelve Colonies was a lose/lose venture.

It was that searching that haunted Laura the most; that turned over and over in her mind even more mercilessly than the memory of Kara’s smile, triggered not simply by her resounding success in getting the President off but by Laura’s seemingly redundant expression of approval.

It was the searching that meant that it could happen again. It was the searching that Laura could not forget when she sat up in the far too early morning and wondered if that night on Kobol was to be the last sex she would experience in this life. If she would never again feel lips on her throat, hands on her thighs, fingers in her hair.

If she would never again feel the enormous relief of the focus that her mind could only achieve when her body was ringing with need; the quiet that her mind only allowed her when her body was sinking with satisfaction.

The peace that Kara had brought her may have been brief, may even have been false, but it was the only peace she had felt since this grand and horrible cup had been passed to her, and she found that increasingly difficult to forget.

She had been weak on Kobol. She was weak again. She did not justify this to herself, did not rationalize. Strength was not unlimited; at times it had to be rationed. Her time was short, her needs few. If the girl truly wanted her again, she would let the course between them play out as it may.

And play out it had. Kara had wanted her again, had made it very clear that she _wanted_ , that she did not feel obligated or coerced, as Laura had feared. She was nowhere near above manipulation when the needs of the many were at stake, however the thought of that same manipulation being put to use for the sake of her own personal urges did nothing less than turn her stomach. An obligation-frak was no better than a pity-frak, and desperate though she may have been, in this matter her desperation was easily outweighed by her pride.

But Kara had wanted her; had wanted her, had taken her. And Laura was through with self-denial. She wanted this girl, this intense, lovely, dangerous girl; wanted her so badly that she could barely think when the girl was near. Fortunately, thinking was becoming less and less of a requirement when in Kara’s presence.

Now, it was just a few days after their “meeting,” and this time there were no card games. Laura’s invitation was not to her office but to her quarters, and at a late hour that was most certainly not written into her Presidential appointment book.

Laura answered the door in her nightgown, and had to remind Kara – her voice quivering just a bit at the ravenous way the girl was staring at her – to close the door before making her move.

Kara closed the door. And then Kara made her move, which had the President swiftly on her back on the bed, Kara atop her, kissing kissing kissing her, grinding grinding grinding against her, trying to simultaneously devour her and merge with her.

It went on that way for some time; making out like teenagers, sloppy kisses and fondles through clothes and Kara giggling, giggling even as she gasped for breath, pointed out that they had even _less_ reason to rush this time, that she hadn’t yet had the chance to kiss Laura to her full satisfaction.

Kiss Laura she did; mouth and throat and face and ears, kissed and licked and nibbled until Laura was wriggling and moaning, legs wrapped tightly around Kara’s waist, fingers buried in Kara’s hair.

Kara’s hands moved to Laura’s thighs, nudging them down, and Kara laughed when Laura resisted, laughed and reminded Laura that they’d have to separate a bit if Laura wanted to be rid of that pesky nightie.

Once said nightie had been carelessly tossed across the room, Kara knelt at Laura’s side and took a moment to enjoy her first sight of the President fully bare before her. Laura did not shrink into herself, did not look away; she stretched herself out, propped herself up on her elbows, met Kara’s gaze, met it and did not shy away from it despite the blush spreading rapidly across her cheeks.

“Madam President, you are the most frakking incredible woman I have ever seen.”

Laura chuckled, hooked her foot behind Kara’s thigh, urging Kara toward her. “You’re not half bad yourself, Lieutenant.”

Kara laughed at that. “Oh, I’m more than half bad. I’m just so gods damned _good_ that you don’t care.”

Before Laura could respond Kara settled over her, straddling Laura’s left thigh, her right hand pressing between Laura’s legs, and any retort Laura may have managed was lost in the feel of Kara’s fingers slipping so easily inside her.

And so it began. Slowly at first, of course, but it hadn’t taken much to work Laura up to the feverish state she was in now, tongue laving Kara’s fingers tirelessly, hips pushing and straining as much as possible, her movement restricted somewhat by Kara’s weight against her thigh.

Kara’s fingers inside her were twisting and fluttering, though she had barely touched Laura’s clit; only those few brief brushes, and only for the purpose of adding that extra bit of torment to Laura’s hunger.

“I’m not going to let you come like this, you know. Not without tasting you.”

And of course Kara was in no hurry to taste her; of course Kara would not have made that statement if she was, because the whole purpose of such a statement was to watch Laura continue to squirm and gasp and strain against Kara’s fingers even when she knew full well that they would give her no satisfaction. She knew this and yet was unable to stop herself because Kara’s fingers felt _so damned good_ and release felt _so damned close_ that if she could only shove her hips just right, buck at the exact moment, clench at the perfect second … but Kara was too quick, too aware, and it was futile, she knew … and the knowledge made it all the more impossible for her to stop.

Kara watched her intently, watched her as though she were the hottest show in the fleet as Laura raised her hands to tease her own nipples, growling around Kara’s fingers at the added sensation.

Gods, had she ever been this shameless? Even in this state she knew that the answer was _never once_.

Finally … _finally_ Kara slid both sets of fingers from Laura, and though Laura could not help the groan of loss her eagerness was unquestionable; the second Kara had started scooting downward, freeing her leg, she drew her knees up, drew them up and planted her feet on the sides of the bed, hips jutting up, presenting herself.

“My goodness, Madam President, you –“

“NOW.”

And Kara was clearly holding back genuine laughter at that, clearly had judged correctly that that laughter would not, at this moment, endear her to the President.

“I knew I had my fingers in your mouth for a reason.” Those fingers brushed softly across that mouth as she spoke, the levity of the remark betrayed by the weight of her voice.

And then she was exactly where she needed to be, mouth latching onto Laura, licking her with a focus that sent Laura further away from her rational mind than she could ever remember being while still fully conscious.

And then, in an instant, her rational mind disappeared altogether as every shred of her brain was overloaded with the burden of processing the pounding convulsing trembling kicking clenched teeth keeping moans from turning to screams pleasure clutching Kara’s shoulders for dear life head tossing back arching pleasure dear gods how could one weak body contain it all pleasure almost blacking out with the force of it _pleasure_.

And though she had not lost consciousness, it was several moments before she could hear anything but her own breath, before the flashes behind her eyes ceased, before her muscles unclenched enough to allow her to feel anything other than shocks and twitches as her nervous system regained its equilibrium.

“Do you have any idea what an amazing frak you are?”

Laura’s laugh seemed almost drunken in its laziness. “Shouldn’t I be the one saying that?”

“I don’t think you have to, after that.”

Kara’s smile was bright as ever, but with a note of something more than pride, something beyond smugness, something that ran deeper than lust, something that Laura couldn’t quite find a name for.

“I was just thinking,” Kara said, as if responding to the unspoken question, “that I haven’t been to a temple since before the attacks, but it feels like I’ve been doing more worshipping than ever before.”

Laura’s eyes went wide, Laura’s breath stopped still in her throat, Laura’s mind should have been filling with responses, should have been overflowing with protests; instead it filled only with one phrase, one phrase that would not be banished.

_You are my temple._

She sat up, leaned forward and kissed Kara with a resolve that she hadn’t even been aware she possessed. Kissed her and lingered there, whispered against her lips.

“Thank you.”


	5. Tribute

As soon as Kara entered the President’s quarters she knew that something was different. Partially because she had barely shut the door before Laura was pressed up against her, pinning her to the wall, fingers digging into her hips, kissing her as though she would never have another chance.

Kara was, of course, fully aware that perhaps Laura would never have another chance. She had been aware of it when Laura first kissed her on Kobol. She had been aware of it in Laura’s office when she had laid her hand down and made the move that guaranteed that, one way or another, things between them would not end easily.

Laura was dying. In part it was the constant, and very real, possibility of death in Kara’s own daily life that kept her from shying away from Laura for this reason. On any given mission Kara could be shot out of the sky. On any given day Laura could be rushed to see Doc Cottle, never to return.

The fact that one of these scenarios was a possibility, whereas the other was a looming and most definite certainty, niggled unpleasantly at the back of Kara’s mind whenever she thought of the President.

It wasn’t as though she expected - or wanted, or felt as though she had any right to – a guarantee. She couldn’t contemplate forever in her own skin, let alone with another person, and most assuredly not with someone whose affections came with such a necessary level of secrecy. That, however, didn’t keep her from feeling like she’d been pummeled every time she contemplated losing Laura … forever.

She had contemplated forever with someone once, and had lost him forever, and it was not an experience she cared to repeat. No amount of internal monologue ( _this isn’t forever never would be anyway this could’ve easily just been a one time frak there are never any guarantees life is short especially for me I probably won’t outlive her by much it’s just sex just sex just sex gods damn it just frakking sex_ ) did anything to assuage the gut-punch feeling whenever she thought about how she was, inevitably, going to have to watch her ( _prophetloverprophetlover_ ) President die.

Up until this point she hadn’t allowed any of these concerns to show themselves while she was with Laura, and, in all honesty, up until this point it had been easy. How could she think about death when a gorgeous redhead was clinging to her, moaning and squirming and wanting her _so bad_ that it took every bit of self-control she could muster to make her wait? How could she worry about the future when all Laura wanted was _nownownow_ and Kara’s world was Laura’s fingers in her hair, Laura’s legs draped over her shoulders, Laura’s voice in a timbre that was nowhere to be found in her Presidential statements? How could she consider illness when this sovereign woman was shattering? How could she contemplate loss when she was in her favorite place?

No, she hadn’t let Laura see any of it, but inside Laura’s quarters that night she started to worry that this night she may not have such an easy time of it.

Because the President was shaking.

Shaking and kissing her frantically; and then the President’s hands were at the bottom of her tanks, moving to pull them upward, and Kara gasped, gasped and took hold of Laura’s wrists, her voice almost a squeak.

“Madam Pres –“

“NO.”

One of Laura’s arms wrenched free from Kara’s grip, and then there were fingers against Kara’s lips, and the woman looking at her was rough and flinty, her eyes as hard as Kara had seen them, her jaw set firmly, chin tilted up as if daring defiance.

Kara’s reaction was unchecked, and she realized that her expression must’ve spoken her fear without reserve, because, as quickly as it had appeared, the steeliness left Laura’s eyes, and was replaced with a look that tore fistfuls of Kara’s heart.

Pleading.

“Not this time,” Laura whispered, her voice as unsteady as her shoulders. “Not this time. Please, not this time.”

And Kara would have given anything, would have agreed to anything, to get that look out of her eyes; to get back the eager, lusty, if sometimes somber, woman she had grown so ( _worshipful_ ) fond of.

“Okay, sure, I won’t … I won’t, if you don’t want me to. Not this time.”

Maybe it should’ve been easier.

“Laura.”

Maybe it should have been easier, but it wasn’t. She had thought of the President this way before, had addressed her as such mentally; the name shouldn’t have seemed so foreign. They’d had sex multiple times now; calling her by her familiar name shouldn’t have seemed so ( _sacrilegious_ ) disrespectful.

For the moment Laura seemed unaware of Kara’s struggle. Her eyes had closed at the sound of her name, and she appeared to be marginally calmed by it.

“Thank you.”

Her voice was steadier now, and for that Kara was grateful.

When her eyes opened she looked at Kara. _Looked_ at Kara. As if she had never seen her before. Her hands raised to cup Kara’s face, and Kara was unable to look away, no matter how unsettled she was by suddenly finding herself to be the object of what appeared to be intense scrutiny. When Laura smiled Kara wasn’t certain if the smile was meant to be warm or predatory. Never before had she met someone who could encompass both mother and destroyer in a single breath-catching beat.

In that instant Kara realized that Laura had been holding back. She wasn’t yet entirely certain _what_.

“Now.” No more trace of quivering. “There has been an inequality here, and I plan on correcting that.”

Kara’s stomach twisted itself into knots. And now she was the one whose voice couldn’t keep its balance.

“I haven’t noticed any inequality.”

Laura’s smile begged to differ. Laura’s eyes made it very clear that playing dumb was not a viable option.

“I’ve been selfish.” Her thumbs brushed gently against Kara’s cheeks as she spoke. “So have you.”

“Me? I –“

“You think I don’t see the pleasure you take from what you do to me? That I think that this has all been completely selfless on your part? I don’t get a little more credit than that?”

“It’s not that. I just don’t see why … if I would rather give, and you would rather –“

“Fear does not count as a preference.”

Something sharp and accusatory in Laura’s voice had more to say than the words alone, and Kara realized that that they were not entirely directed at her.

“Why would you be afraid?”

Laura’s mouth did not respond. Laura’s cheeks, however, responded with an unmistakable flush. Laura’s eyes responded with a flicker; she had gone so quickly from vulnerability to control, and now she was torn back to the center, jaw set firmly, hands steady on Kara’s face, hew own face pink, eyes uncertain. She was wavering between stances ( _miraculous woman or fallible deity?_ ) and Kara watched her, read what was written in the language of hesitation.

“You’ve never … am I the first woman you’ve been with?”

Laura snorted. “That makes me sound so virginal … and I assure you that _that’s_ not the case.”

“No, I don’t guess so. But …”

“Teaching and politics don’t particularly provide an abundance of personal freedom and privacy.”

“And now you’re –“

“Dying.”

“Is that what this is about?”

Laura’s entire being reacted to that question with authority. Her hands tightened around Kara’s face, held it still and met her eyes.

“I am going to tell you this once, and I want you to _hear_ me, do you understand?”

Kara, breath hitching, nodded.

“Whatever you may think, however your perspective of this relationship ties into your horribly misguided sense of your own worth, I am not frakking you because you are _convenient_. I would not be frakking you if I weren’t dying, but I would _want_ to. I wanted you before Kobol. I wanted you because you were a gutsy bitch and a damned gorgeous one at that.”

Kara was the one shaking now, and Laura backed down just slightly, brushing her fingers through the hair at the sides of Kara’s face before crossing her arms over her chest, taking a half-step away.

“I found out today that I have, at most, a month. Gods know how many of those days I’ll be … capable. I don’t know how many more chances we’ll have.”

Her eyes were determined now. Set. Unmovable.

Just when Kara was starting to wonder how much longer her legs would hold her, Laura compounded that concern, leaning in close, _almost_ touching, the breath of her words dusting across Kara’s lips.

“There are dozens of things I wanted to do before I die that I will never get the chance to do. Making you come will not be one of those things.”

And Kara was a half second away from falling apart, but Laura didn’t give her the time; Laura closed back in on her and kissed her again, demanding, staking her claim. Laura’s hands against Kara’s waist weren’t strong enough to still the quaking, and after the kiss Laura murmured against Kara’s lips.

“Paying tribute shouldn’t always be one-sided.”

And that was it.

Kara’s trembling shook them both, Kara’s expression was one of a cornered animal as she stared at this ( _predatorsavior_ ) woman before her, this woman so fierce and fragile.

This woman who was looking at her. This woman who was _seeing_ her. This woman so eager to cut straight to her core, who hadn’t the time to muddle through all her wallslayersissues, who spoke several strategic ( _benevolent_ ) words and expected that they would land her _right there_.

This woman who was right.

This woman who would be gone soon, gone very soon, and would be gone to Kara far sooner than she was fully gone from this life.

Kara had known that she hadn’t much time. There was something miserably definitive about having an actual estimate. An incredibly sparse estimate.

One month. At most. One month and Laura weaving back and forth so close to the edge of composure herself. One month and what was being asked of her would have spooked her under the most mundane of circumstances. But one month and if she refused now she would never have this chance again, not just because of the one month but because Laura would never ask again, very likely would never invite her here again. In one month could she live with herself if she didn’t give this? One month and no room for do-overs; if she frakked this up that would be _it_. One month and gods _damn_ but this was all too much.

Laura hadn’t backed off this time; had, in fact, tightened her grip, pressed closer to her, maybe unable to stop the tremors but determined to lessen them. Laura was watching her as her eyes flashed and flickered through her internal monologue.

Laura was watching her as she began to laugh. Softly at first, chuckling, then growing more robust, her body beginning to still as the laugh expanded.

And yet Laura did not move, and yet Laura watched, her eyes curious. Waiting.

Kara raised a hand and pressed it to the side of Laura’s face.

“We’re quite a pair, you know that?”

“I think that could be called an understatement.”

“You have any alcohol?”

“I most certainly do.”

“Good. I think I’ll need it. Might not be a bad idea for you, either.”

Laura smiled. And it was not a smile of victory. And it was not a smile of relief. And it was not a smile of thanks.

It was just a smile. Pleased. It was the simplest expression Kara had ever seen on Laura’s face, and inwardly she offered her eternal gratitude to whichever deity had granted her the strength not to run.

Laura kissed her once more; gently this time, ending with an enticing nip at Kara’s lower lip just before she parted to pour the drinks. Kara took a deep, steadying breath before moving to sprawl on the sofa.

When Laura came to the sofa with two glasses, Kara took the proffered one and thanked her; didn’t pause before knocking back her drink in a few swallows. She had to admit she was impressed when Laura did the same with hers.

“Well. I would’ve guessed you were the sipping type, Mada … Laura.”

“This isn’t a sipping type of evening, though, is it?” She set her glass down and immediately went for Kara, arms wrapping around her waist, pulling her in for more hungry, demanding kisses.

This time when Laura took hold of Kara’s tanks Kara did not stop her. When she pulled them over Kara’s head and tossed them aside, then did the same to her bra, Kara helped her; raising her arms to assist, tugging the material past her head. When said garments had been tossed aside and Laura pulled back to look at her, she even tried not to look wary. Tried and almost succeeded.

If Laura noticed, she said nothing. The consuming hunger she saw in Laura’s eyes as Laura looked at her made her doubt that the other woman had noticed at all.

And then Laura was moving off the sofa, onto the floor and between Kara’s legs. Her palms slid up Kara’s back and she wasted no time attaching her mouth to Kara’s left breast, practically growling as she kissed and suckled.

In that moment Kara’s concerns were banished. In that moment there was room for nothing save the feel of Laura’s tongue on her nipple, Laura’s hair tickling her chest and belly, Laura’s nails against her back. In that moment there was room for no thought save “I’m the only woman she’s done this to …”

Kara’s head leaned back against the sofa, Kara’s back arched, Kara gasped as Laura switched to her right breast, giving it equal treatment, Laura’s right hand sliding around to take over where her mouth had left off.

And just as Kara’s hips were starting to wriggle, just as Kara’s breathing was starting to seem more difficult than usual, Laura stood, stood and tugged her own nightgown up, over her head and off, tossed it aside and climbed onto Kara’s lap, straddled Kara’s hips and leaned down to kiss her.

The world was Laura’s tongue exploring every crevice of her mouth, Laura’s hair draped around her face and onto her shoulders, Laura’s breasts pressed just above her own, Laura’s hips beginning to rock against her, shifting and squirming and pressing in closer, closer, closer.

By the time Laura pulled back they were both drawing ragged breaths, both grinding against each other in a slow, instinctive rhythm.

Then Laura crawled back down onto the floor, her eyes never leaving Kara’s as she settled on her knees between Kara’s legs, hands moving to unfasten the first of Kara’s boots.

And Kara had a flash of panic.

This wasn’t the way it was supposed to be. She wasn’t supposed to be the sole focus of this giving, the sole receiver of this gift. This offering wasn’t meant for her. This woman, this prophet, this gift in and of herself, was not meant to be on her knees before her, at her _feet_ for the gods’ sakes. This was all ( _blasphemous_ ) wrong.

Kara hadn’t realized that her head had tilted back, that her eyes had gone to the ceiling, until she felt Laura’s hand take hold of her chin, pulling it down, pulling Kara to face her. She didn’t realize how her heart had started to race until she heard it, pounding in her ears, as Laura looked up at her with eyes that gave no ground.

“You are far more than a vessel, Kara Thrace. Whatever the gods intend in this alliance, I assure you it isn’t for you to be my concubine.” Laura’s grip on Kara’s chin released, her fingers now brushing across Kara’s cheek. “You also aren’t the only one with a right to worship.”

And Kara nodded. Nodded because what else was there to do? Nodded because this woman had chosen her, and who was Kara to argue the details of worthiness? She had been deemed worthy; there was nothing left but to receive. To receive with thankfulness. To receive with grace.

Though grace seemed an art far beyond her grasp as she fumbled to help Laura remove her boots and socks; as she jerked to get out of the way as Laura nearly ripped open her pants. Grace began to seem less desirable as she stood and found herself captivated by the view of Laura on her knees, eyes bright, lips parted, hands raising to Kara’s hips, her own grace forfeit as she inelegantly tore down Kara’s pants and underwear, groaned heatedly as she stared up at Kara.

“Sit back down.”

And Kara did. And Laura wasted no time pulling the bunched up clothing from around Kara’s ankles and tossing it to the side. Even less time was wasted on pushing Kara’s knees apart, scooting in close, gripping Kara’s hips and tugging her to the edge of the sofa.

She wasn’t sure what she would’ve expected from Laura in this moment; contemplation? Hesitation? A return of the shyness that had occasionally shown its rich pink colors across Laura’s cheeks?

What she got was an eagerness that rivaled any Laura had shown thus far. What she got was a confidence that needed no experience; that needed only the fuel of _can_ and _want_ intersecting at their tensest point.

What she got was Laura’s tongue covering her fully in a series of firm, broad laps, learning the basics of her texture and taste with hungry, unfocused licks until Kara was biting her lip and splaying her fingers helplessly against the sofa.

And then Laura began her exploration in earnest … but not before taking a brief moment to attach her lips directly to Kara’s clit, her tongue curling around it in a single circular swipe, before backing off to a more leisurely discovery process.

When Kara had recovered somewhat from her body’s sudden tension, from every muscle shouting _ohgodsyeswantTHATnononoDON’TSTOP_ , when she’d regained some shred of her composure after her yelp of surprised pleasure and groan of frustration, she looked down to see Laura watching her, and there was no mistaking the joy of retaliation in her eyes.

“I guess I deserved that,” Kara panted, and Laura responded by dragging her tongue along Kara’s entrance … again, again, again, again, until Kara was whimpering and shoving her hips forward, and then Laura’s tongue was inside her, inside her and licking her ravenously, and Laura was moaning, a low, rough almost-growl that vibrated against Kara’s skin and sent Kara’s brain into an uncontrollable spin of wanting, wanting more of that mouth, wanting more of that tongue, wanting more of this woman this prophet this President, this woman who was tasting her and dear _gods_ was loving it and could she possibly have any idea the effect that that was having?

But Laura wasn’t looking at Kara’s face anymore; Laura’s eyes were closed and she seemed to be in a trancelike state of focus. As far as Kara could tell that focus was centered on stretching her tongue as far as possible, dragging it as roughly as she could manage along Kara’s upper walls, tasting every bit of flesh that she could reach before drawing her tongue out, out and up, and suddenly her first name wasn’t so hard to say anymore, suddenly it was pouring out of Kara over and over between each panted breath.

And then Laura’s mouth found its destination, found it and this time there was no brief tease; this time there was a full assault of sucking and swirling and pressing harder and harder until Kara let out a single, low cry of half breath, her body convulsing in a relentless rhythm of _tense_ release _tense_ release that followed the tempo of Laura’s tongue until her nervous system sang out in one final, sharp burst of _YES_.

When she regained awareness of her own breath, she looked down at Laura, who was peeking up at her, the shy pink resurfacing on her cheeks.

But there was something else. There was a smile, and once again it was so simple, so pure, so pleased and so beautifully without agenda. Kara wondered if anyone else had seen that smile since Laura gained her title, and counted herself well beyond blessed to have seen it twice in one evening.

Laura crawled up onto the sofa then, leaned against Kara, and Kara draped her arm across Laura’s shoulders, her fingertips dusting lazily against Laura’s upper arm.

“Stay this time?”

It could have been an order, could have even been an order disguised as a request, but it wasn’t. Because this wasn’t the President. Not this time. This was Laura.

“Mmm-hmm.”

Kara didn’t bother to wonder whether she would ever again, after this night, have such unguarded access to Laura. She didn’t bother to wonder because she already knew the answer. The melancholy of that answer mixed languidly in her heart with the amazement that she had been gifted in this manner at all.

She turned her head and nuzzled against the auburn halo of this woman this prophet this President this goddess who seemed fated to be both her awe-inspiring gift and her heart-rending sacrifice.

But for now … for now, she was Laura. And for now, for as long as this moment would stretch until responsibilities and realities inevitably snapped it in two, Kara was serene.


	6. Promise

She was desperately glad that she’d mustered the strength to push Kara when she had, because she didn’t have quite so many good days after that, and after that the whirlwind of chaos that descended upon them in the form of the Pegasus threatened to swallow her final days in several tense, tragic chunks.

When there finally was a night when she felt up to company she almost didn’t call Kara, because she was up to company – desperate for it, if she was honest with herself – but she wasn’t up to sex. She was weary, weary and hurting and lonely, and she wasn’t certain which would be worse – outright rejection or acceptance that led to awkwardness, to Kara sitting on her sofa out of obligation, fidgeting and wondering how long she must stay before it was acceptable to flee.

“I’m … tired. If you don’t want to come, it will be easiest on both of us if you just don’t.”

“I’m coming.”

And there had been awkwardness, but not the kind Laura had feared; there had been no trace of obligation in Kara’s careful embrace, in Kara’s lips against her temple.

They sat on the sofa over glasses of ambrosia. Laura stretched out, draped her legs across Kara’s lap. Kara, though not fidgeting, clearly wasn’t certain what to say, had no plan for how to navigate this situation.

Laura had never had any difficulty assigning tasks when necessary.

“Tell me about Caprica. Not like before - not numbers, not strategies. I don’t want to hear about landscape or tactics. Tell me about the things that happened to you there. Tell me about the people you met.” She paused a moment, taking in Kara’s startled expression; took a sip of ambrosia, gave a wry smile. “Don’t leave anyone out.”

Kara’s stare went from startled to flustered; her laughter was thin and grainy. “I don’t suppose there’s any point in asking you how you manage to … know things.”

“There’s quite a bit I don’t know or I wouldn’t be asking you to tell me.”

“You sure you aren’t asking just because you want to listen to me talk?”

“If that was all I wanted I’d ask you to tell me a bedtime story.”

“I don’t know any good ones.”

“There aren’t many. Heavy handed and trite, most of them.”

Kara watched her for a moment, watched her with the same wary look she’d had at their last meeting.

Her laugh was rounder this time, but still grainy.

“Fine. You really are a bitch, you know that, right?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

And Kara told her about Caprica. The museum. The blonde Cylon. Helo and Sharon. The pyramid team. The resistance.

Anders.

The “hospital.” The Cylon “doctor.”

What the Cylon doctor had seen. Told in a detached voice, through the Cylon’s observations, through his words. Not her story, not even his, but his interpretation of her story; a past unfolded two steps removed.

Laura had seen the darting concern in Kara’s eyes as she talked of Anders, Laura had reacted with interest of no different temperature than she had to the rest of the story. This, however …

This had Laura’s teeth clenched. This had Laura’s fingers curling into fists, and Kara’s gaze was now so distant that she didn’t seem to notice the reaction, didn’t make mention of the leftover smudges of fury that took Laura several moments to wipe away as Kara continued her story.

The farm. Escape. Reunion. Her promise.

When she was through she looked at Laura, eyes jumpy.

Laura leaned forward, reached a hand out, fingertips meeting Kara’s cheek.

“You’re going to find him again.”

“He’s probably dead.”

“You’re going to find him again.”

Kara studied her, her brow furrowed. When she spoke her words were not accusatory, not angry or petulant, not a lament or a complaint. She spoke a fact, spoke it plainly.

“I don’t understand you.”

“I ask a lot of difficult things of you. I wouldn’t ask something impossible.”

They kissed then, reached for it mutually, and it was slow and gentle and thorough. Laura wondered if it would be their last.

It wasn’t.

~*-,._.,'-*~'`^`'~*-',.'_.,-*~'`^`'~*-,-*~'`^`'~*-,._.,-*~'`^`'~*-,-*

Kara came of her own accord the next time, and even if Kara hadn’t been the type to state her intentions outright Laura wouldn’t have had to ask why.

“I’m going to do it. I’m going to do it because he asked me to, and gods help me I can’t say no to either of you. And I know it was your idea. He asked, but I want you to tell me why.”

“Because otherwise, she will kill him.”

“You’re sure.”

“Yes.”

“So this is to protect him, to protect you, or to protect humanity?”

“Does it matter? Are there any of the above that you wouldn’t kill to protect?”

“Don’t ask me questions you already know the answer to.”

“Then don’t ask me questions that are meaningless and hurtful.”

Silence as they watched each other, Laura’s arms crossed over her chest, her head turned slightly to the side, looking at Kara from the corners of her eyes; Kara’s arms dangling awkwardly, her lips parted, eyes angry. Eyes worried. Eyes conflicted.

Kara’s arms raised, fell again, swung loosely at her sides.

“I told you I was going to do it.”

Laura’s arms uncrossed, one hand raised to rest at Kara’s elbow as she turned to face Kara fully.

“I wouldn’t ask unless-“

“I know.”

Kara exhaled, took a step closer. “I know, okay? I just … I had to –“

“I know.”

Laura’s smile was weary and wry, as hard edged as her hand on Kara’s arm was gentle.

“I wish I could tell you that I didn’t know he’d ask you to do this. I knew, of course I knew.” The step closer was hers now, and now their bodies were touching lightly, she slid an arm around Kara’s waist. “I’ve always asked a lot of you, Kara. I’ve always asked a lot and you’ve never held back.”

Her words were a whisper before the kiss that, were it not for miracles, would have been their last.

“Thank you.”

~*-,._.,'-*~'`^`'~*-',.'_.,-*~'`^`'~*-,-*~'`^`'~*-,._.,-*~'`^`'~*-,-*

Kara came to see her once in Sick Bay. Once that she remembered, at least, and even that was foggy, hazed with pain and drugs. She remembered Kara’s hand on her arm. She remembered Kara’s eyes. She hadn’t thought cancer could possibly cause her any more grief than it already had until she saw Kara’s eyes.

Later, after the injection, the blood, the convoluted miracle, after the sudden and so thoroughly unexpected discovery of alive, alive, alive … she found two figures sitting on the stand by her bed; ancient designs. Deities. She reached for them, didn’t have to ask their origin, but Cottle told her anyway.

“She made me promise that they would find their way into your coffin. Looks like I’m going to have a bit of trouble keeping that promise.”

“Could you call her? I need to tell her … to thank her. She should have the chance to … take these back.”

If he found the request odd, he said nothing. Nor did he give any sign that he noticed when Kara arrived and immediately embraced the President.

There were no words. The fact that the setting wasn’t private enough for open talk was a convenient excuse. There were no words. There was only the embrace, the embrace that was far too tight, that lasted far too long. Kara was shaking and Laura was weak and finally they let go.

There were no words, and Laura needed rest. Kara sat by her side until Laura’s breathing was even, until the wakefulness left her body.

Several hours later when Laura’s eyes opened, Kara was gone.

The deities remained. Sitting next to them was a small scrap of paper, writing in a rough scrawl.

“Yours.”

~*-,._.,'-*~'`^`'~*-',.'_.,-*~'`^`'~*-,-*~'`^`'~*-,._.,-*~'`^`'~*-,-*

“You’re alive.”

“So you’ve mentioned.”

“You’re alive.”

Laura’s nightgown hadn’t lasted thirty seconds upon Kara entering her quarters. Fifteen seconds after that Laura was on her back under Kara, her legs wrapped tightly around Kara’s hips.

“You’re alive.”

Kara was kissing her, kissing her wildly, kissing her with worshipful relief. Punctuating each kiss with words like a prayer like a mantra like a reminder, a reminder of something that still didn’t seem real.

“You’re alive. You’re alive. You’re alive.”

And then Kara’s mouth was on her neck, moving down her chest until it came to focus on her breast. Her left breast. Kara had never treated her breast gingerly; never handled it as though it were fragile, as though it were killing her. Now, though; now Kara’s focus was unmistakable. Her tongue left no inch of Laura’s breast uncovered, her teeth decorated it with the flushed pink indentations of tiny nips that made Laura gasp, tighten her fingers in Kara’s hair.

“You’re alive.”

“Yes. Gods yes.”

Kara’s lips closed on Laura’s nipple and sucked, sucked deeply, sucked for a long, long time, tongue laving the tip until Laura was whimpering her name.

“You’re alive. I want to make you feel it.”

Before Laura could respond Kara was crawling down her body, curling her hands around Laura’s thighs; before Laura could form words her coherency was lost as Kara began to lick her with a ravenous, rushed focus that she hadn’t shown since Kobol.

There was no teasing on Kara’s tongue this time; Kara wanted her to come, wanted her to come _now_ , and Laura recalled dirt under her fingernails, the stars over her head as her body shuddered, tensed, obeyed Kara without question, gave her the orgasm she demanded, gave it to her with rapid, pounding tremors; gave it to her with quick, sharp breaths; gave it to her with hips grinding shamelessly against Kara’s face.

Kara’s grin was wide as she sat up onto her knees, licked her lips, watched Laura’s panting recovery. Her grin was wide but as soon as Laura saw it she knew she wasn’t finished. Wide, but not smug enough.

Laura raised an eyebrow, and Kara responded by pressing a hand between Laura’s legs, sliding two fingers inside of her, pushing them as deeply as they would go before drawing them back, slowly, setting a pace that Laura quickly matched.

“I want to see how many times you can come before you can’t bear it anymore,” she whispered, Laura’s eyes widening even as she slid her hands up her body to massage her own breasts.

All told the answer was four times. Four times; the second with Kara’s fingers, two and then three thrusting into Laura, thumb circling her clit, coaxing her closer and closer to the edge until Laura threw her head back, bit her lip and moaned through the trembling jolts of her release.

The third Kara made her accomplish on her own, did nothing but run her hands along Laura’s legs, murmur encouragement and watch, thoroughly enthralled, while Laura frakked herself with one hand, tweaked and twisted her nipple with the other, her cheeks as pink as her body was uninhibited, her voice still calling Kara’s name as she brought herself to climax, set off as much by the spotlight-hot intensity of Kara’s gaze as she was by her own touch.

By the last time Laura was soaked in sweat and Kara had four fingers inside of her, four fingers and Laura couldn’t get enough of them, couldn’t shove her hips hard enough, couldn’t pull Kara in deeply enough, and her hands were white-knuckled on Kara’s shoulders as Kara leaned in to suck her off, her final orgasm of the night a ragged, explosive burst that left her limp and spent, heaving for breath.

Kara crawled up, stretched out beside her, propped herself up on her elbow. Now her grin radiated self congratulation.

“Ready for another go? Maybe my whole hand this time?” Her voice was playful; Laura’s exhaustion was evident.

Laura snorted, turned her head toward Kara. “Something to look forward to next time.”

And something flashed in Kara’s eyes, something like relief, and Laura raised a hand, brushed a wisp of hair from Kara’s face, her expression an inquiry.

“You said something the last time … “

“That I wouldn’t be frakking you if I weren’t dying?”

Kara chuckled, tossed her head. “How do you do that?”

“That one was easy. I would be asking the same thing right now if I were you.” The backs of her fingers trailed along Kara’s jawline. “The answer is that I would not have _started_ frakking you if I hadn’t been dying. Now … now, we’ve already started something. Not just that - we’ve been _given_ something. I can’t define it; sometimes I wish I could. But it’s ours, and I don’t plan to turn my back on it. On you.”

Kara’s eyes closed as Laura spoke, closed until Laura was quiet. When they opened again her expression was a feeble attempt at lightheartedness.

“I knew if I got you off enough times you wouldn’t be able to toss me out on my ass.”

“Stop that.” Laura’s voice was equal parts authority and compassion.

The pretense fell away and Laura caught just a moment of the little girl in Kara’s eyes before Kara leaned down, pressed her nose against Laura’s hair.

“Sorry. I’m just … glad. More than I know how to say.”

Laura turned on her side toward Kara, tucked her head under Kara’s chin.

“So am I.”


	7. Offering

Laura is not a woman who often shows surprise. As skilled as Kara is at drawing seldom seen expressions and colors to her surface, surprise is one that even she hasn’t often managed.

For this reason Kara finds a particularly delicious flavor of cherish in the way Laura’s eyes widen slowly, lips parted just slightly, frozen at the start of a question that takes her several moments to express.

“How did you get it?”

Laura’s nostrils flare as she inhales, almost moaning at the scent of it.

“Trust me when I say you don’t want to know.”

Laura tries to look stern. Kara thinks, cannot remember a single other occasion when she has seen such an attempt fail at all, let alone so miserably. She grins, cataloguing the wavering frown as the second new vision of the evening.

Laura tries to look disapproving, but the quick pink of her tongue sliding across her lips defeats that effort before it has even truly begun.

Laura thinks she should question Kara further, but cannot bring herself to do it.

It has been far, far too long since Laura has tasted chocolate.

The treasure in Kara’s hands sits atop a dull, crackly foil; the inelegant packaging earning admiration through the pristinely preserved condition of its contents.

Four bite-sized squares. Dark and blockish and plain. Laura has never seen anything so appetizing in her life.

She lifts her eyes, turns them toward Kara. Quirks her mouth at the corner, lets her voice come rolling out in a low, promising purr.

“Did you get this for me?”

Kara shivers, hardly unaffected by Laura’s manipulation, somehow made even more enticing by its obviousness. Kara, however, has her own plans. Kara’s mouth quirks as well; she lets her voice remain casual. Noncommittal.

“Sort of.”

Gingerly her fingers lift one of the squares from the foil, Laura’s eyes following with a focus that can only be called lusty.

“Open your mouth” she whispers, the words not past her lips before Laura obeys, trembling as she leans toward Kara’s hand, and as Kara places the morsel on her tongue she does moan, moans and closes her mouth around it, shivers as the flavor spreads across her tongue, coats her cheeks, fills her senses. She can feel Kara’s eyes on her as clearly as she can hear Kara’s breath, taut and quick. The rich flavor’s effect on her is so thorough that there is no need to put on a show.

Kara gives her all the time she needs; Kara waits patiently until the chocolate has melted, until Laura has swallowed, opened her eyes.

And then Kara is on her. The remaining squares set carefully to the side on the bedside stand, Kara is kissing the chocolate from her lips, lapping it from her cheeks, sucking it from her tongue.

Short work is made of Laura’s clothing. Equally short work is made of Laura’s coherency. Kara’s mouth targets Laura’s throat, knowing the spot that will produce a deep, growlish moan when sucked just hard enough. Kara’s fingers dust across Laura’s nipples, knowing the gradual pattern, the gentle slope that begins at _just barely_ and ends with _oh gods please_.

It is the knowing that fuels Kara’s imagination; that whets her confidence. This woman beneath her may in fact be one of mankind’s greatest living (thank gods thank gods oh thank _gods_ ) enigmas, but this woman beneath her is not incorporeal. Flesh and blood and bone and skin, hair that curls when damp with sweat and legs that quake when taut with need. Kara’s certainty that she will never understand this woman only enhances the desire to learn her.

Learn she has and learn she does. Her mouth’s knowledge soon has Laura tossing her head restlessly, biting her lip, sliding her palms along the fabric at Kara’s back. Her fingers’ education soon has Laura’s hips rocking, heels digging into the mattress, back arching as she tries to move closer.

Kara knows the spot just below Laura’s clit; the spot that needs only a gentle stroke to call all of Laura’s muscles to attention. She knows it, she strokes it, she grins, a grin that Laura knows, a grin that Laura claims could be summed up in a single word, though she hasn’t yet figured out which.

Kara knows the glaze of Laura’s eyes that means she isn’t quite up to logical thought just now. Kara sits up a bit, curls her hands around Laura’s thighs, waits for Laura’s focus to return.

“I could make you come now,” she offers. She is sincere, and Laura hears it in her voice; this is clear by the glint of hope, the reactive push of Laura’s hips toward Kara. She is sincere, but she is not finished, and the glint is edged away by suspicion. “Or I could give you another piece of _my_ chocolate.”

Suspicion makes way for realization.

“Gods, you love to torment me.”

“Oh hell yes.”

“Give me the frakking chocolate.”

And Kara does, and as she offers the square Laura takes Kara’s fingers into her mouth as well, sucking them thoroughly, making certain not to leave even a smudge behind.

Kara doesn’t wait this time. Kara ducks down, hunkers between Laura’s outstretched legs, indulges her own greed. Grins at the muffled sound of Laura moaning around the chocolate that she is determined to savor for as long as possible. Her arms curl around Laura’s hips, palms rest against Laura’s belly. Flat, fingers spread out, pressing gently. Just enough to feel the upward strain with each breath Laura takes, the slight quiver with each exhalation.

She is so easily lost here. Laura is not only Kara’s place but her time as well; Laura’s reactions, her growing restlessness marking the passage. Laura’s breathing, deep and heavy to shallow and brisk, a gradual process, and has it been twenty minutes? Laura’s hips, languid rolling to rapid thrusts. Thirty? Laura’s hands, from her own breasts to the sheets to Kara’s hair, twisting and tugging, and maybe forty-five now. Laura’s voice, wordless, moans to whimpers to growls; growls and thrusts and tugs at her hair and Kara raises her head, raises her head and opens her mouth to speak, but Laura doesn’t wait for the question.

“Chocolate. Frak you.”

Kara’s smile is pure glee; her fingers across Laura’s cheek every word that she doesn’t have to say (gorgeousgorgeous _gorgeous_ like this). The third square is bitten ravenously from her fingers, teeth nipping sharply at the pad of her thumb. Laura stretches and trembles as she sucks, reaches out wildly, flailing; grabs Kara’s hand, shoves it between her legs.

“Oh really?”

Kara’s voice is a drawling tease, but such eagerness and she sees no reason to hesitate. Three fingers inside Laura straight away, deep as she can push them, and Laura is still hanging onto her arm, holding it or herself in place, shoving onto three hot fingers and groaning around the delicacy melting across her palate.

Wet, gods so soaking wet and soon the majority of Kara’s hand is buried inside Laura, pushing and twisting in the same nownownow rhythm of Laura’s hips. Laura’s toes curled, nails digging grooves into Kara’s arm, heels kicking against the mattress with each beat. And the beats continue, faster until Kara can no longer maintain the pace, slower until Laura lets out a cry like a plea too urgent to waste time with words. Beat, beat, beat, Faster, beat, beat, beat, slower … and finally Laura’s whimpers are so plaintive that Kara cannot forsake mercy any longer.

The question seems a formality, but Kara asks it; Kara doesn’t ever ignore the possibility that Laura may surprise her. Kara’s tone is gentle against the percussive breaths of the woman at her hands. Kara’s words drop softly as Laura strains, struggles, shudders.

“Would you like another piece of chocolate?”

“Get. Me. Off. NOW.”

And Kara does. Thumb firm on Laura’s clit, circling and favoring that particular spot, that spot that only needs to be stroked for a moment before Laura erupts into a rolling, pounding, kicking, clawing orgasm, each wave tearing through her, the pulse of it clenching and releasing Kara’s hand, the energy of it crackling through Kara’s veins.

When it is over, Laura is boneless. When it is over, Kara trails a hand along Laura’s side, then raises it to brush Laura’s hair from her face, wide eyes eloquent.

Laura’s voice is lazy and rough, one of her feet raising to brush against Kara’s back.

“You love to indulge me as much as you love to torment me.”

“Hmm?”

“Chocolate and sex at the same time. It was a game, but it was a gift as well. You don’t have to acknowledge it. I just wanted to point out that I’d noticed.”

Kara snorts, rolls her eyes. “Now I guess I’m just proving you right by giving you this, then.” She reaches back for the final square, holds it out in its foil, mouth tipped into a cocky grin betrayed by offering eyes. For a moment time slips and Laura shivers.

Not entirely steady. “I don’t think I earned that.”

“Don’t be stupid.”

“Don’t you like chocolate?”

“I love it.” Kara takes the square in her fingers, holds it out to Laura’s lips. Laura’s eyes are fierce on Kara’s as she takes it, kissing the tips of Kara’s fingers, consuming with eyes open this time, not relinquishing Kara’s gaze until she is finished.

Laura’s hands are soft and steady against Kara’s face, her kiss gentle and insistent and tasting of chocolate. Laura’s whisper tickles against Kara’s cheek.

“I’ll never be able to repay you for everything.”

“You’re being stupid again.”

“Mmm. Maybe I should stop talking.” Laura grins then, grins and kisses Kara’s cheek, chin, throat, chest … then a nipple through the fabric of Kara’s tanks, kisses and nips and then fastens her mouth wholeheartedly, the wet fabric and the heat of Laura’s breath, the pressure of Laura’s tongue drawing a moan as Kara curls her fingers around Laura’s shoulder, croaks out the protest that her body is already bemoaning.

“You … don’t have to, you know, you really don’t owe me anything …”

“The stupidity must be contagious tonight.”

Laura’s hands move to Kara’s pants, unfastening and pushing insistently, and Kara helps, tense and shaking and she hasn’t had a drink this time, hasn’t known whether to expect this again, but then she is on her back and Laura’s curls are falling against her thighs and gods her body remembers this, _wants_ this. Her hips pay no mind to her fears as they edge toward Laura’s mouth, Laura’s eager, learning mouth, explorer’s tongue, adventurer’s lips.

Laura is moaning again and Kara can barely believe how Laura seems to adore this; had wondered if perhaps the first time was a product of circumstance, could not manage to parallel Laura’s reaction to the bliss she herself takes in the same act. But Laura is no longer acting out a dying wish, a last fantasy. This is not a frak infused with the energy of maybe being the last.

This is simply a frak, in all of its sublimely un-simple context. This is Laura making it clear that Kara isn’t the only one with an investment in the process of knowing.

Laura’s knowledge may be newer but Laura’s tongue is elegant and precise against Kara’s clit; Laura’s strokes are firm and tidy, seeking out Kara’s most responsive spots. Kara comes hot and fast and quickly and Laura licks her through her orgasm, through the harsh shudder, the cry behind gritted teeth, the bruise-drawing grasp on Laura’s shoulders. Laura licks her until her head falls back onto the pillow, until her back rests once again on the mattress.

Kara’s breath is slow to recover and Laura’s cheeks are as pink as her tongue as it slides across her lips, and Kara wonders if Laura’s smile afterward will always have that incredible shy pride. It is yet another rare expression, one that Kara believes she may be the only person to have ever witnessed. The pleasure that Laura’s tongue brings her is considerable, yes, but even that cannot match the joy of having one of Laura’s smiles all to herself.

She doesn’t realize that she is smiling back. She doesn’t realize that this smile - one of world-weary pleasure, of bliss hard won – has been seen by no one else. She doesn’t realize that the smile she is wearing is Laura’s.

She doesn’t know why Laura thanks her before kissing her, but it isn’t a kiss that invites questions, and Laura’s head on her shoulder is certainly not seeking further discussion.

“You’re welcome.”


	8. Sacrifice

“I don’t expect you to always be at my beck and call, you know.”

“What?”

Laura smiled, raised an eyebrow. Brushed her fingers through Kara’s hair. “You don’t have to shuttle over here every time I express an interest in seeing you. If you’re not feeling up to it, or you have other plans, I assure you I won’t fly into a rage.”

“You think I’d be here if I didn’t want to be?”

“I think this is the first time you’ve ever been far away when you’ve kissed me. I think you’re brooding over something, and either you want to tell me about it or you don’t. If you don’t, perhaps we should try this another night.”

Kara sighed, leaned back into the sofa, closed her eyes. “It’s stupid. And you won’t like it.”

“Either you want to tell me about it or you don’t.”

Her eyes opened again; sought out Laura’s. Studying. Appraising. Laura met them evenly. Waited.

“I tried to frak Lee.”

“Tried?”

“He stopped it. It was … idiotic, the whole thing. I just wanted a frak, and … I don’t know what he wanted. Something else. I don’t even know why I tried in the first place.”

A small grin played at Laura’s mouth; her tone was decidedly casual. “Wanting a frak isn’t a good enough reason?”

Kara’s eyes narrowed. “You’re not angry?”

Laura’s chuckle was low and rueful. “Because my lover, who is half my age, and whom I never acknowledge in public, may want a sex life that doesn’t always revolve entirely around me?”

“Well, yeah,” Kara responded, her mouth quirking up at the side. “Something like that.”

“What you do when you’re not with me is none of my business. Unless you want it to be.”

“You don’t mind me talking about it?”

“Do you think I haven’t thought about this before?” The tilt of Kara’s head was enough to answer Laura’s question. Kara did not suspect the extent to which Laura had pondered, agonized. Not over the idea of sharing Kara; that was something that she had expected she was doing from the start, whether she knew about it or not.

Laura was no longer dying. Kara was no longer her last wish. This was no longer rooted safely in the realm of the temporary. She would not disappear from Kara’s life, leaving her to grieve, to mourn, to move on.

Whether to continue with this relationship - continue into the realm of the indefinite, continue to complicate Kara’s life, continue to allow Kara to complicate hers - had been a difficult choice for Laura to make. The fact that it was the only choice had not for a second made it easy.

“I don’t expect to keep you to myself, Kara. I told you that you’d find Anders again. At the time I didn’t think I’d live to see it. Now it seems that I will, and for better or for worse neither of us has chosen to end this. I imagine that choice will involve some … adjustments … for both of us as time goes on.”

“If I find him again, and he still … you wouldn’t …”

“Make you choose?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t see what the point in that would be. You have to live your life. I don’t want any restrictions between us and I _really_ don’t want you to ever be afraid to talk to me. Gods know you’ve done your share of supporting me when I needed it, I’d like to think I could offer the same to you.”

“Somehow talking to you about man trouble just seems weird.”

“I’m sure it does,” she stated, nodding. “Maybe you’ll just have to get used to the idea. Besides, you could find far less qualified confidantes. There doesn’t have to be frakking involved for me to understand the difficulties of dealing with Adama men.”

For a moment they watched each other, expressions neutral. For a moment. And then they were both laughing, loud and wild peals that started as giggles and grew to cackles as they gasped for breath, leaned toward each other.

Kara’s hand was on Laura’s thigh as they calmed, gradually, and Laura was still slightly winded when she spoke, though her voice had no difficulty transitioning once more to seriousness.

“There is only one thing I would ask.”

Fingertips lazy along Laura’s leg, trailing from knee to hip, eyes focusing once more on Laura’s, her own laughter a bit more of a struggle to banish fully. “What is it?”

“When you are with me, I want you to be _with me_. If you can’t, for whatever reason, then don’t.”

Kara nodded, the laughter now gone completely from her voice. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I won’t.”

“Good. Now.” She covered Kara’s hand with her own, pressing it against the inside of her thigh. “Are you with me?”

Kara’s breath caught, and she scooted closer to Laura, her fingers curling against Laura’s leg, sliding against the fabric of her nightgown. “Yes ma’am.”

“Glad to hear it.”

And Laura’s hands shot out whipfast to Kara’s face, holding firm as Laura moved in to kiss her, to kiss her hard, to plunge her tongue into Kara’s mouth, to push her back, back until she was lying on the sofa, Laura perched over her, still kissing, kissing until Kara was dizzy and gasping, until Laura herself heaved a breath against Kara’s mouth and then went right back to it, her claim on Kara’s mouth ferocious.

The kissing didn’t slow as Laura released Kara’s face, reached down to unfasten Kara’s pants, fingers nimble, efficient. Unfastened, pulled down, down as far as she could, clothes bunched around Kara’s knees before Laura released her mouth - but not before biting down on her lower lip, biting down with a force that made Kara yelp – and only for as long as it took to pull clothing off, away, to toss it aside and lean back in, pressing against Kara, pinning her, running her tongue broadly against the bite mark before thrusting it once more between her lips.

By the time Laura let her go Kara was panting. Eyes wide, staring up at Laura, staring at this woman claiming her with sudden fierceness. Laura’s eyes were as ruthless as her tongue, commanding full attention as she raised a hand, took three fingers into her mouth, wetting them thoroughly before sliding them out, her tongue darting across her fingertips just before her hand lowered to press between Kara’s legs.

Her head lowered with her hand, mouth to Kara’s once more, but this time she hovered; lips dusting across Kara’s, her soft, even breaths hushed against Kara’s ragged gasps.

She touched a kiss to the left corner of Kara’s mouth as she slid one finger inside. She did the same to the right, a second finger joining the first. Kara’s hands were at her hips now, clinging, and she did not hesitate, her lips pressing squarely against Kara’s as she added the third finger, pushed them in deep, growling against Kara’s mouth, growling at the feel of Kara wrapped around her fingers, wrapped and shifting, landscape rolling and changing as Kara’s hips strained and finally Laura began to thrust. She started slow, slow and deep, her head raising just enough to watch Kara, and Kara’s eyes were wary, Kara’s breath was labored, Kara’s fingers were digging into her flesh, but Kara was moving with her. Kara was meeting her thrusts and as her pace increased – and it did increase, and rapidly at that, moving with no more hesitation than her confidence required – Kara started to moan, allowed her eyes to fall shut.

Laura’s fingers were relentless. Fast and deep and faster and deeper and Kara had one leg hanging off the side of the sofa, foot planted on the floor, the other raised, hooked around Laura, her hands held firmly to Laura’s hips, anchoring herself with a desperation that would surely leave marks.

The rhythm that Laura sustained was rough and demanding and as soon as it was set she matched it once again with her kisses and Kara was squirming, whimpering, clutching. Laura frakked her without pity. Laura frakked her without mercy. Laura frakked her until the sounds from her throat reminded Laura of what she heard echoing in her own head whenever she hung in the balance of Kara’s hands and mouth, needing, helpless.

And then Laura frakked her harder. Harder, her tongue buried in Kara’s mouth effectively preventing words, allowing for nothing but inarticulate cries. Harder, and Kara was shaking, and she didn’t have to plead with words, didn’t have to ask with her voice; the vehemence of her hips shoving onto Laura’s fingers bypassed language.

Harder, and her thumb on Kara’s clit gave no warning, was just there, suddenly, circling, firm, and Kara’s orgasm gave no warning, was just there, and Kara was coming, bucking against Laura so hard that Laura had to reclaim her balance, was at once reminded of the strength of this woman beneath her. Kara was coming and her howls were muffled vibrations pouring into Laura’s mouth. Kara was coming and Laura wondered if her fingers would bruise from the force of the clenching.

It ended like it started, sudden, all at once, and Kara stilled, fingers uncurling from Laura’s hips, arms falling limp. Laura pressed one gentle kiss to Kara’s lips before sitting up, withdrawing her hand, slowly, resting it against Kara’s thigh, slick fingers brushing lazy strokes across Kara’s skin.

Kara’s eyes were open. _Open_ and Laura’s breath caught, Laura stared down at her, her hand not at Kara’s thigh spreading against Kara’s chest, palm pressing against it.

Kara watched Laura’s hand rising and falling more slowly as she recovered. For several moments there was no motion save breath.

When Kara smiled it was full and bright. When Kara smiled Laura was smiling back before she was aware of it. When Kara spoke her voice was soft and craggy.

“That was unexpected.”

“Yes. It was.”

“What, you hadn’t planned on pouncing on me and frakking me senseless?”

“I don’t usually plan these things in advance. I’m hardly the strategist that you are.”

“Liar.”

Laura snorted. “You said you wanted a frak.”

Kara’s eyes widened with the realization. She raised a hand to Laura’s shoulder. “You didn’t have to –“

“Stop telling me what I don’t have to do. I don’t give because I have to. No more than you do.”

Laura’s tone was scolding, almost harsh, and Kara’s expression was abashed, fingers apologetic against Laura’s skin. “I know. It’s … hard.”

“I know. Get used to it.” She smiled then, smiled with all the warmth absent from her voice, and Kara’s returned smile was as pleased as it was sheepish.

Sheepish, for a moment, and then impish, her hand brushing at the strap of Laura’s nightgown, brushing it off of Laura’s shoulder.

And Laura was aching for it, the heat of Kara’s pleasure still coursing through her, unsated. Laura was aching and Laura could barely imagine how Kara so frequently went without, gave with such intensity, gave and elicited such response, gave and gave and gave and seemed satisfied. Laura was aching, but Laura was determined.

A hand raised to put the strap back in place. Words allowing for no appeal. “Not tonight.”

Kara frowned. “You don’t want –“

Laura leaned down, swiped her tongue along Kara’s ear. “Desperately. But tonight was yours.” Kara tried to protest, but Laura interrupted, and her voice was a grinning whisper, a promise, a challenge.

“Make it up to me next time.”


	9. Ritual

It wasn’t quite as premeditated as it may have seemed. It was mostly luck, really, but Kara was hardly one to shatter an illusion when it worked in her favor.

Granted, Kara did know that Laura was on the Galactica this afternoon. Also granted, she may have done a bit of wandering (disguised, of course, as Purposeful Striding) around the corridors where she thought she might have a chance of glimpsing the President of the Twelve Colonies, striding purposefully herself, fully clothed in the countenance of her position.

Crossing Laura’s path in a corridor that was decidedly, deliciously empty? Luck of the most surprising kind.

“Madam President.” Kara’s strides retained their purpose as she moved toward Laura.

“Captain Thrace.” Brisk. Cool.

Cool, that is, until Kara’s gaze fell hot and thick at her feet, taking in her heels, moving slowly up her legs, lingering at the hemline of her skirt. Laura’s mask may have been superior but it was not, this particular afternoon, fastened very tightly. By the time they stood next to each other Laura’s cheeks were tinted pink and there was the tiniest bit of frenzy hiding behind her glasses.

At any moment the solitude of the corridor could be broken, and Kara’s hand at Laura’s waist was rabbit quick, the contact brief, not daring anything more intimate, simply unable to resist _something_. Some physical proof to push past the titles.

It was a brief touch to the waist, hardly provocative, yet it made Laura gasp in a way that Kara hadn’t expected. A short gasp, a rough shiver, and her head whipped around, and suddenly the frenzy was a few layers closer to the surface.

Kara’s realization seemed to take forever in her own mind, felt heavy and slow, flickering through an array of possible reasons for this reaction before the truth snapped past her worries and settled in.

Wanting.

Of _course_. She had gone without at their last meeting; had clearly wanted it, had abstained. Had abstained though she had been bubbling with want that was now brimming over, spilling out her eyes, coating her body, unable to withstand even the slightest touch from her lover without sloshing out onto the floor.

Laura was wanting. Perhaps even needing. Such a restrained touch had garnered this reaction and my gods but how would she react to other touches in this state?

Kara smiled, wide and bright and predatory. Tested her theory. Let her eyes lower, linger across Laura’s chest, licked her lips as she brushed her gaze across the cleavage just visible above the pale violet of Laura’s neckline.

Kara watched that pale skin flush before Laura took a step back, shifted her weight, drew herself up. The gesture was as solid and strong as her voice was soft and shuddery across the final word she managed in this encounter.

“Captain …”

Kara leaned in just enough to speak into Laura’s ear, and her voice was low and quiet and without a trace of question.

“Don’t change out of this outfit tonight.”

She heard Laura’s sharp inhalation just before she turned, strode off. Purposefully. Did not look back. It was only a second following that she heard Laura’s heels meeting the floor as Laura walked in the opposite direction, her pace rhythmic, her own purpose reclaimed.

~*-,._.,'-*~'`^`'~*-',.'_.,-*~'`^`'~*-,-*~'`^`'~*-,._.,-*~'`^`'~*-,-*

Kara entered Laura’s quarters with a body’s worth of confidence and not a shred of surprise to see that Laura was still fully dressed, jacket to heels, her eyes peering over her glasses in that tilt that was just familiar enough that someone else may have mistaken it for her usual appraisal.

Someone else who had never seen Laura shatter. Someone else who had never seen Laura _need_. Someone else who had never seen Laura both unclothed and naked.

Kara made no mistake. There was appraisal, yes, and plenty of it. There was also fire. And, even further back, tucked so carefully that Kara had to squint for just a moment to see it, there was a question.

Kara did not hesitate as she approached, and her hands were firm at Laura’s hips, her grip certain as she pushed Laura back, and Laura stumbled just slightly at the force of the sudden motion, stumbled but did not resist, and then her back was against the wall and Kara was pressed against her, one arm wrapped snug around her waist, the strength of Kara’s torso pinning her tightly, and Laura’s moan started before the kiss.

The kiss was hard and greedy and Kara’s hand against her thigh was sliding under her skirt, between her legs, and then pushing, flatly, unmoving, giving her the pressure and nothing else.

Laura’s reaction was exquisite. Her hips shoved against Kara’s hand, grinding and working to get a rhythm, and Kara pressed her harder into the wall, limiting her movement, her arm around Laura’s waist pulling tighter, making her gasp into Kara’s mouth, gasp and then exhale on a low, muffled note.

Kara’s lips brushed across Laura’s as she spoke, and as she spoke her hand never stopped pressing, and Laura’s hips never stopped straining, but Kara’s strength never stopped holding, keeping Laura from getting anywhere near what she wanted, and keeping her from it with an ease that was surely playing a part in the dilation of Laura’s eyes, the volume of her breath.

“You wouldn’t let me get you off last time.”

“No.”

“And judging by the state you’re in now, I’m guessing you didn’t finish the job yourself, either.”

Laura’s eyes were molten on hers and it must not have been easy to form a full sentence while struggling desperately for something that remained just out of reach. “That would have been missing the point entirely.”

Kara shivered, licked her lips. She couldn’t pretend that this wasn’t affecting her; that Laura’s shameless, helpless squirming wasn’t battering against her reserve, but that didn’t matter. She felt no need to play her hand close. Laura’s knowledge of her hunger wouldn’t change the specifics of what she was hungry for.

“And the point was to wait.” Her lips pressed against Laura’s throat.

“Yes.”

“To wait until I gave it to you.”

“Yes.”

Kara’s grin was wide against Laura’s skin. “You told me to make it up to you the next time. I’m going to do that. But you’re going to have to give me something, too.”

“What?” Breathy and low, ravenous suspicion.

Kara pulled her head up, looked into Laura’s eyes. Not even her glasses helped maintain the illusion of austerity now. “I told you when we first started this that I wanted to make you beg. I haven’t yet.”

Anticipation. Resignation. “Gods, Kara …”

“You’re going to keep waiting. For as long as I want. And I’m going to make you beg. Honestly. Not for show. I’ll know if you’re faking it. And then I’m going to make you come harder than you thought was possible.”

And they watched each other. Laura’s eyes were as fierce in their pride as they were in their lust, but her fingers were curled against Kara’s back and her hips had no pride, fierce or otherwise, as they continued to writhe against Kara’s hand.

Kara’s voice was whisper soft, as quiet as it was commanding. “You said I was fascinated with the idea of stripping you down. You were right. That’s what I’m going to do. That’s how I’m going to make it up to you. Because that’s what you want.”

Kara had never heard such tenderness in Laura’s voice. “Frak you.”

She recognized reverence of prayer in her own. “I know.”

And she stepped back, releasing Laura, removing her hand as Laura groaned, leaned back against the wall, tried to catch her breath.

Kara dropped to her knees. Took hold of Laura’s skirt, pushed it up, bunching it around Laura’s hips. Pressed a kiss to the top of her thigh through her stockings. Another one just below it, and another just below that. By the time she reached Laura’s ankle there was detectable quivering. Kara ran her tongue flatly along the top of Laura’s foot, around the edge of her pumps, and the quivering was punctuated with a rough tremble.

She raised herself up, placed one hand behind Laura’s calf to lift her leg, used the other to slide off her shoe, set it carefully to the side. Repeated the process with the other leg, the other shoe, watching Laura replant herself, inches shorter.

Her hands were hovering gentle as she removed Laura’s stockings; mindful of the fragility of the fabric, mindful of the difficulty of obtaining a replacement pair. Laura reached a hand down to Kara’s shoulder to steady herself as she stepped out of them, a hand that remained in place while Kara gingerly placed the stockings by her shoes, losing its grip when Kara leaned down suddenly to swipe a broad lick along the length of Laura’s leg from ankle to hip.

And then Laura’s hands were both on her shoulders, clinging, and she may have managed to catch her breath for a moment but now she was panting, eyes closed, head leaning back against the wall.

Kara hardly needed encouragement to continue lavishing Laura’s legs with attention, but if she had, Laura’s reaction would have been ample. Once more she leaned down, favored the other side of the same leg with a similar swipe. And again, toward the front this time, and again, a bit to the left … and then, of course, there was a whole other leg that couldn’t simply be ignored.

Laura had been quivering. Now she was shaking. On Kara’s final lick she did not stop at the top of Laura’s thigh; she leaned to the side, pressed her tongue against Laura’s clit through her panties, pressed it there and stayed, unmoving, her tongue teasing as her hand had earlier, giving pressure and nothing more. The moan that tore from Laura’s throat was sudden and ragged, and Laura’s panties were soaked through as she rubbed frantically against Kara’s face, and for a moment Kara allowed it, growled at Laura’s scent before pulling back, swallowing hard at the desperate tone of Laura’s protesting cry.

“Kara, please … “

“Please what?”

“Please … lick me, even if it’s just to tease me.” She raised a hand, whispered delicate fingers across Kara’s cheek. “Please.”

Kara could not begin to comprehend the amount of willpower she would have needed to deny such a request. Immediately her hands were at the edge of Laura’s panties, pulling them down. Laura leaned on Kara’s shoulders as she stepped out of them, bit her lip and whimpered as Kara planted firm hands on her hips, steadying her against the wall.

The angle wasn’t perfect, but Kara wanted Laura standing; wanted to feel the quaking of her legs, the buckling of her knees. Wanted her hands on Laura’s hips and Laura’s hands on her shoulders to be all that was keeping her upright. The angle wasn’t perfect, but Kara was limber, versatile.

Kara’s tongue was quick at first, finding Laura’s clit and circling it without hesitation. Laura’s breathing was rapid, her exhalations noisy, and it took very little to bring her to the edge, her weight bearing down on Kara’s shoulders, the tremors in her hips only dampened by Kara’s grip.

And then her eyes were closed and she was clenching her jaw; bracing herself, Kara supposed, for the inevitable retreat. When Kara drew back – gradually, circles widening, nibbling at Laura’s lips, dropping kisses along her thighs – Laura expressed no surprise, but her moan was deeply satisfying. Pleasure and frustration mingled together, adoring as much as needing.

And this was how they moved. A rhythmic, fluid cycle of closer, to tautness and heaving, closer, the majority of Laura’s weight against Kara, closer, until she could almost feel the pressure in Laura’s body preparing to unwind, readying itself for a release that her mind would know better than to expect.

And then further, gently, slowly, easing off in stages, further as Laura’s breathing evened, further as she began to support her own weight, further, letting Laura cool down as much as she could before beginning the process anew.

Seven times Kara brought Laura to whisper’s range of climax without allowing her to claim it. Seven times Laura bore it; bore it with gritted teeth, bore it with clenched knuckles, bore it with cries almost feral in their forlorn euphoria.

After the seventh time, as Kara’s touch grew more gentle, more distant, it became clear that Laura could no longer be consoled. Her gasps would not slow, her whimpers would not calm, her hips would not still.

Kara stood. Took hold of Laura’s skirt, gathered inelegantly at her waist now. Pulled it down, carefully; smoothed it against Laura’s legs before unfastening it, letting it drop, letting Laura step out of it, kick it aside and turn to look at Kara with eyes helpless frantic.

Kara’s smile was calm, soothing. Her hands moved to Laura’s jacket, unfastened it, slid it over Laura’s shoulders. Raised to cup Laura’s breasts, rubbing them softly through the silky fabric, thumbs brushing against nipples causing a reaction of such sudden force that Kara’s arms quickly caught Laura around her waist, held her close, held her up.

A raw growl. “I can’t keep standing.”

“Of course not. Come here.” Kara walked her to the bed, gingerly, sat her down on the edge, sat at her side, brushed her fingers through her sweat-damp hair. “Better?”

The look she got in response might have been intimidating if it hadn’t been so profoundly frakking hot.

She smiled again, gleeful this time, letting Laura see exactly how deeply she was enjoying this. Her fingers were quick and precise as they opened and removed Laura’s shirt followed by her bra, carefully.

And that left only one thing. She watched Laura for a moment, watched her shoulders tremble, watched her eyes flicker, watched her fingers open and close restlessly against the sheets.

Lifted her hands to Laura’s glasses. Slid them off, folded them, placed them delicately to the side. Turned back to her stripped down lover.

It was then that Laura broke.

Her hands went to Kara’s, squeezing them fiercely as she spoke, words tumbling and frenetic.

“Please Kara, please now, you can’t get me much more naked than this. I feel like you could breathe on me and I’d come, I’m so close, please. I’ve waited so long. I need you to give it to me. Please.”

Kara twined her fingers with Laura’s, held her gaze, steady, unwavering, taking in every detail of Laura’s desperation. Raised one and then the other of Laura’s hands to her lips, kissing both softly before releasing them, taking hold of Laura’s shoulders, pushing her down toward the bed. Pushing for just an instant before Laura got the idea, scooted herself fully onto the mattress, laid herself out, thrust her arms toward Kara, reaching.

And Kara complied, crawling onto Laura and leaning down to kiss her, and Laura’s arms were tight and immediate around her, Laura’s legs wrapped snugly around her waist, Laura’s hips thrusting against her with a wantonness that matched the groans and growls she was spilling into Kara’s mouth with every breath.

Kara’s kiss would not be rushed by Laura’s frenzy. Kara’s mouth was slow and tender on Laura’s, kissing her as though this were the beginning of a seduction, as though the woman beneath her were not soaking and writhing and near delirious.

When she finally pulled back she hovered briefly, unable to resist one more look at Laura’s face, a look that was rewarded by Laura’s nails digging into her back, Laura’s voice forcing out a strangled croak of a plea.

She moved down Laura’s body, Laura’s legs unwinding, spreading, heels planting firmly against the mattress. And she began as though it were the first beginning of the evening, began with kisses and nibbles and teases, began in a way that turned Laura’s pleas to curses, curses chanted with the waning remainder of energy left after every pulling breath.

She began as she had the seven times previous, but this time did not end with frustration, with Laura clinging to control, forcing her body to bear the denial with grace.

This time ended with Laura arching so far off the bed that for a moment she appeared to be levitating. This time ended with Kara reaching up hurriedly to push three of her fingers into Laura’s mouth because the volume of Laura’s cry was rising steadily and did not give any signs that it would plateau before catching the attention of the whole of the ship. This time ended with Laura tangling her fingers in Kara’s hair and grinding Kara’s face ruthlessly, dripping and pulsing and hot, and Kara kept Laura going for as long as she could, kept Laura going through wave after wave of tremendous wracking spasms, through teeth clamped onto her fingers and hair pulled nearly out of her scalp and hips that didn’t care whether she could breathe and dear _gods_ but nothing had ever been as incredible as this.

When it was over they both collapsed, panting and wheezing and limp. It was several moments before Kara managed to crawl up to Laura’s side, and Laura was still unmoving, but Laura was the first to speak.

“Your mouth,” she whispered raggedly, “is my favorite place.”

And with that Kara could not manage smugness. Had no words. Simply stared, wide open and bare. Stared at this woman, this woman stripped down, piece by piece, meticulously, a plan, an effort, an accomplishment, a ritual.

This woman who could do the same to her with a few casual words.

And then Laura was reaching out, one arm lazily draping across Kara’s shoulders, pulling her in.

“Rest with me.”

And she did.


	10. Distance

She keeps thinking that she has forgotten how to mourn. It is easier, she has found, to imagine that she has forgotten than it is to wonder if she has ever known to begin with.

It was almost there, for a moment, when she saw his body. She felt it welling up in her, expanding inside her, threatening to burst out or through - felt it as she brushed his hair from his forehead, felt it for just a moment, felt it sharp and hot and passionate. For just a moment.

Not now. The moment dulled quickly, leaving her with a muted, weary resignation. Leaving her heavy and dizzy and numb. Leaving her with yet another subtraction from the ever present number; several down this day, several gone and only one that she can bring herself to give a damn about. Even for him she can’t manage to mourn.

Sometimes she wonders if mourning is simply a show; a production put on by people as crippled as herself, afraid that others will see that all that is left of their loved ones is emptiness. That all that remains of their soul is shadow.

She hasn’t spoken to Kara today but she isn’t surprised when the girl arrives. Isn’t surprised that the girl’s eyes are wide and haunted and fearful. _Is_ surprised when her first instinct is to bury herself in the girl’s arms and rest there. Isn’t surprised when she holds herself back from doing so.

There is no confidence in Kara’s stance, her shoulders down, arms gangly at her sides. When she speaks her voice is barely there. “Laura … I’m so sorry … “

“I didn’t want to give her the Cylon. That was my stand.”

“It was the right choice.”

“I’m not entirely certain I give a frak about that right now.”

Kara raises her arms, lets them fall, shifts her weight. Laura watches her flatly, her own arms crossed neatly, her own body possessed of a barrier of stillness.

“You couldn’t have saved him,” Kara murmurs, and Laura laughs. Short and hard and bitter she laughs like she is choking, the sound grating her throat.

“Do you really think you need to tell me that? Of course I couldn’t. I never can.”

Kara reaches out briefly, teeters just slightly toward Laura, does not cross the barrier. Laura does not move.

“Gods, Laura, you – “

“Don’t tell me I’ve done the best I could. Don’t tell me how many people I’ve saved. Don’t tell me it was an impossible frakking situation or anything else that will only remind me how gods damned helpless I am.”

“I’m sorry, I – “

“What are you sorry for?”

For a moment Kara only stares at her, open-mouthed, stuck. Kara stares and Laura knows she is being harsh, knows it but doesn’t move, doesn’t unwind her arms, doesn’t relinquish her distance.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t save him.”

“Were you ordered to save him?”

“No, but – “

“Did I ask you to save him?”

It is this question that Kara answers with palpable shame. Her “no” is soft, murmured downward, followed by no attempted protest. Again Laura feels the twinge of a pull toward her, the urge to close the distance, to rest against her. Again she holds back; holds back her desire to take comfort in this girl for whom she fears, when the time comes, she will be unable to mourn. Holds back and feels that fear twist until it folds itself back into anger.

“Then that’s a ridiculous thing to be sorry for. It wasn’t your fault that he was in that bar. It wasn’t your fault that an embittered widow conspiracy theorist was there with guns and thugs. It wasn’t your fault that I didn’t want to give her the frakking Cylon – the very Cylon that I wanted to toss out the nearest airlock at first contact. You say that I couldn’t have saved him, but maybe I could have. Maybe you could have. Neither of us did. There’s no reason for you to apologize to me for that.”

“You didn’t save him for a reason. I didn’t save him because I was an idiot and wouldn’t follow orders.”

“Yes, Kara, you were an idiot. You were a gods damned idiot. You went off on your own and this time you didn’t come out of it a hero, you just came out of it an idiot.”

Kara’s face is crumpling now and a substantial part of Laura’s heart falls through to the floor and begs her to stop, to stop and unfold and _not do this_. The part of her that refuses to stop does not budge. The part of her that is watching this exchange from a distance starts to think that the opposing sides are unknowingly headed for a collision that scares her more than she will consider.

“I’m sorry – “

“FOR WHAT?”

“For being a frak up! What do you want me to be sorry for, Laura?” Her arms thrust out at that, drop heavily, and she paces now, to the side, not breaching the distance.

“He was the closest thing I had to family. You are the closest thing I have to a … “ Her hand waves in absence of a word. “I had to make a decision today, knowing what could happen to him as a result of that decision. Someday it’s going to be you in that room. Someday I’m going to have to make a decision and know what could happen to you.”

“Laura – “

“You weren’t in that room today. You weren’t _supposed_ to be in that room today. You put yourself there. You thought you could outsmart everyone, thought you could fix everything, and you put yourself there, and I am nothing but frakking lucky that you didn’t get yourself killed.”

Laura’s hands are on her hips now and she has not moved, is still planted firmly, formidably, though not steadily. She is trembling. She is trembling and Kara sees it, she can feel it in the way Kara is looking at her, misery and worry and an almost tangible pressure against the space that separates them.

“I didn’t – “

“I could have lost you both. Do you understand that? I could have lost you both.”

Kara’s tears are falling now, and the wrenched tension of her face begins to loosen in realization.

When Laura speaks again the anger in her voice has drained and her arms fall to her sides, deflated.

“I don’t know what would have been left of me after that.”

The moment is long and quiet. Kara’s tears do not stop immediately but her voice does rediscover its courage.

“I’m sorry, Laura. I wish I could promise that I won’t do it again.”

“I lose everyone. It’s only a matter of time before it’s you.” The dropping temperature of her voice scares her, and for a moment she sees that fear echoed in Kara’s eyes; for a moment, and then she sees something else.

“You may be right.” Kara starts toward her, does not stop. Banishes the space with arms sliding around Laura’s waist, pulling her in to an embrace that does not ask her permission. “But it won’t happen easily.”

And Laura’s trembling turns to shaking. She does not speak, does not weep, does not cling. She leans in, slightly, letting Kara’s frame bear a bit of her weight.

“He was so young.”

“I know.”

She does not steady entirely, but her hands against Kara’s hips are firm, and when she raises her head she looks at Kara squarely. Looks at her squarely and fiercely and simply. Looks at her for so long that she wonders if Kara will flinch, lower her eyes. Kara does not.

There is clearly a brief delay of surprise when she kisses Kara but then Kara catches up and there are hands against Laura’s back, splayed, pressing, and the mouth against her own is welcoming, is eager.

She is kissing Kara ravenously, kissing her and pushing her toward the bed, and Kara does not resist, does not hesitate, lets Laura guide her. When they reach the bed Laura begins to pull at her own clothes, the willpower required to keep from tearing off buttons suddenly seeming near unbearable, and Kara is helping her, unfastening her skirt and kneeling down to remove it, to help her out of her shoes, stockings, panties, her movements as gentle and careful as Laura’s are frantic.

When she is naked she climbs onto the bed, tugs Kara toward her. Her words are not a question, very pointedly and purposefully not a question, but her voice is a far cry from the commanding tone she attempts to summon.

“Don’t make me wait.”

Kara responds with a softness that is an answer not to an order but a plea, and Laura wonders when her throat turned traitor but knows that Kara will honor her wish, chooses not to linger on the specifics of why.

“I won’t.”

And Kara doesn’t. Kara gives her her first orgasm quickly, with lips on her throat and the movements of her fingers rhythmic, efficient. Laura’s eyes are closed, her knees drawn up around Kara, her hands on Kara’s back firm, pressing.

She comes shaking and biting her lip and the sounds lurking in her throat are more sobs than moans. She comes eyes still shut, hands tucked under Kara’s tanks, fingers digging into skin. She comes and Kara neither stops nor slows.

And Kara does not stop, and Kara does not slow, until she has gotten Laura off three times, four fingers pushed deeply inside her, her mouth now fastened on Laura’s shoulder where she has left a series of marks that Laura is aware of even before she opens her eyes, finally, recovering from a climax that she hadn’t felt coming until it was there, all at once, turning her insides into a spiraling, quivering sharpness of pleasure that pinned her to the mattress and left her incapable of any movement or sound that didn’t seem terrifically pitiful.

This time Kara does give her time, does let her rest. Kara’s fingers are withdrawn slowly, and Kara’s hand against her hip is slippery and warm, Kara’s lips tender against the redness of the marks on her shoulder.

By the time Kara begins to crawl down her body Laura feels as though she can move again, though it isn’t a theory she tests with much resolve. Her breaths are deep and steadying and at the first swipe of Kara’s tongue she exhales with a moan that sounds less like grief than anything that has come out of her so far this night.

Kara doesn’t tease, but neither does she rush. Laura’s body is tired and lazy, near sated, and Kara’s mouth is languid, coaxing. The tension rises so gradually that she does not realize at first that her hips are rolling, that she is panting, that her fingers on Kara’s head are no longer stroking but tangling. Her final orgasm comes fluidly, the intensity of the pleasure building seamlessly until letting go is as inevitable as her next breath.

When she is finished she feels boneless, exhausted, begins to think that sleep may not be the impossible goal that she had expected. When she speaks she does not delude herself that the tone of her voice is under her control.

“Thank you.”

“You don’t –“

“Yes, I do. I was cruel to you – as if you haven’t had a frak of a hellish day yourself – and you still gave me exactly what I needed. Thank you.”

Kara is at her side now, a tiny wry smile pulling at her mouth.

“That wasn’t what I meant. I meant you don’t have to thank me because it was what I needed, too.”

Laura looks at her, gives her the closest approximation of an appraising look that she can manage before snorting, reaching out to grasp Kara’s wrist, gripping it fiercely.

“Fine. Now just … don’t go anywhere.”

Kara’s cheek is warm against her mottled shoulder.

“Wasn’t planning on it.”


	11. Challenge

There are nights when Laura is in charge.

Kara tries to tell herself that this isn’t the full truth; that, in honesty, there are simply nights when Laura claims her command and nights when she doesn’t.

Something about that doesn’t ring true. Something about that sticks in her brain, irritates, won’t settle. She thinks she wants it to be true. She thinks she is frightened by the thought that the vulnerability Laura so often displays with her might be genuine.

And yet she never hesitates to draw that vulnerability out, to make a space for Laura to lay down her office. She thinks that this isn’t the first time that she has been frightened of something while relentlessly seeking it at the same time.

And then Laura’s palms graze against her nipples and she chooses to stop thinking.

Laura is taking her time tonight. When Kara arrived Laura’s welcoming kiss was long, lazy, tongue shallowly darting, teeth gently nibbling. She offered Kara a drink then, had one herself as well, made comfortable conversation between sips, casually rested her hand against Kara’s thigh, leaned in occasionally to brush wet lips across Kara’s throat.

Laura undressed her slowly, firmly moving Kara’s hands away when she tried to help. Laura peeled the layers away with a reverence that made Kara squirm, squirm and look up at Laura with an expression that she imagined must have been near pleading. The smile that Laura gave her in return was tender, comforting, and thoroughly unrelenting.

Naked now, laid out on the sofa, she sees something different in Laura’s expression; a determined focus as Laura’s hands skim along her stomach, down her thighs, then return, gently gripping her wrists, sliding up her arms to her shoulders.

“So strong,” Laura murmurs, fingertips tracing a swirling path along her upper arms. “Beautiful.”

“Laura – “

But then there is a hand over her mouth, and another hand at her breast, toying with her nipple, and she moans against Laura’s palm, looks up into eyes that flicker and flash and do not budge.

“You are beautiful, Kara. Whether you want to hear it or not.”

Kara shivers, arches toward Laura’s touch, struggles not to flinch from the intensity of Laura’s gaze.

Laura is not a woman who often says that she is sorry. She sees this in Laura as she sees it in herself, as she sees the melancholy honesty in Laura’s expression and wonders if Laura’s apologies are always so difficult to bear.

And then Laura’s hands withdraw as she sits up, pulls her nightgown off, lets it fall to the floor. She lays down against Kara then, stretching herself out atop her and kissing her, kissing as she winds her arms around to grip Kara’s shoulders, kissing as she tangles their legs together, kissing until Kara’s senses are overloaded by the expanses of smooth skin against hers, the canopy of red hair surrounding her face, the tongue that flirts with hers and will not be caught.

Finally Laura’s face separates from hers just enough that Laura can speak audibly, her words pushing warm breath against Kara’s cheek.

“Tell me what you want.”

“What?”

Laura’s voice is low in its amusement. “I thought that was a fairly straightforward instruction.”

It does not escape Kara’s notice that her snort sounds remarkably like the kind that Laura often gives in response to her teasing. “Only you would call that straightforward.”

Laura raises an eyebrow, begins to rock her hips slowly against Kara’s. “How exactly was it not straightforward?”

“I’m not debating with you,” Kara says after she gasps, meets Laura’s rhythm. “I’ll lose.”

“Only if you insist on talking.”

“My point exactly.”

Laura’s head ducks down, her tongue runs from Kara’s collarbone to her earlobe, which she takes between her teeth before answering. “No debating. Just tell me. Tell me how you want me to get you off.”

And Kara takes a deep breath. Knows that Laura thinks she is afraid to do this. Knows that that is exactly why Laura is demanding it. Knows that Laura is right. Doesn’t want to admit it, to let it show. Knows that Laura is counting on that very reaction.

Grins, hopes she is managing something in the general vicinity of casual. “Fine, since you’re offering. I want your tongue. You’re much better with it than you realize.”

The smugness of Laura’s smile doesn’t overshadow the flush that rises to her cheeks, and it is the flush that makes Kara feel as though she has regained her balance.

“Very well then,” Laura answers, and leans down, lets the tip of her tongue cover the edge of Kara’s ear, then move down her jawline to her throat, which she laps in wide, firm strokes.

And Kara knows that she is being teased as she feels Laura’s tongue moving across her collarbone, then pressing brief, warm touches to her shoulder. She knows that Laura is enjoying feeling her squirm as each of her breasts is licked thoroughly, every inch of skin covered before her nipples are laved mercilessly.

Kara knows that Laura is playing with her, knows and yet cannot bring herself to mind, because Laura’s mouth is on her stomach now, and Laura’s hair is tickling her sides, Laura’s fingertips sliding along her hips, and there was a time not terribly long ago when this sort of attention would have made her restless, uncomfortable, but Laura’s tongue is gentle along her muscles and discomfort is too distant for notice.

By the time Laura’s mouth winds its path down her thigh and between her legs Kara is straining for it, straining and realizing that she did not ask for this simply as an answer to a challenge; she asked for this because she _wanted_ it. Exclamations, curses and smart-assed comments line up in her head. What comes out is “gods, don’t stop.”

And Laura doesn’t. Laura’s tongue, Laura’s magnificent tongue, swirls against her until every bit of sensation it has extracted from her body is reeled in and concentrated in one spot; one spot white-hot and coil-tight until Kara lets go, lets go because there is no other option, lets go because whatever she had been hanging onto seems to have dissolved and the lights behind her eyes are flashing deep red and the pleasure that tears through her body is rough and fast and leaves her shaken, twitching.

Before she can even begin to recover Laura has pulled herself up against her side, is smoothing damp hair from the sides of her face, is smiling, pink-cheeked, and for several moments Kara can do nothing but stare at her.

“You look like you ought to be purring.”

“Yeah, well you’re looking pretty frakkin’ pleased with yourself. Pushy bitch.”

Laura’s laugh is light, almost giddy. “You certainly didn’t seem to mind the results.”

“No more than you’ll mind the consequences,” Kara responds with a raised eyebrow and a playful tone. Laura’s sharp breath and fingers tightening in her hair are all Kara needs to know that she has Laura’s interest.

“Come here.” Kara wraps her arms around Laura, urges Laura back on top of her, and Laura complies, straddling Kara’s hips. Her face is flushed with more than just shyness now, and her breathing could no longer be called even.

“I want to know,” Kara says as her fingertips trail slowly up Laura’s stomach, “how much you want to come.”

Laura reaches down, grips Kara’s shoulders, gives her a look that reaches well beyond its means, and Kara can’t help but giggle.

“Your stern schoolteacher look doesn’t work so well when you’re naked and dripping on me.”

The look slips seamlessly into laughter, and Kara’s hand raises, fingers just barely dusting against Laura’s mouth as she wonders, for neither the first nor the last time, what she has done to deserve a gift of such beauty.

The softening in Laura’s eyes as they meet hers tells her that she’s once again done a horrible job of hiding the reverence in her expression. Not that she’s ever really put a great deal of effort into it. Not that it would do any good if she did.

“Very well,” Laura whispers, beginning to grind slowly against Kara’s hips. “I want to come desperately. Giving you pleasure makes me ravenous, and I think going without again might be a threat to my sanity.”

Kara’s grin twists upward at one side, and she slides a hand between them, cupping Laura, squirming heat breathing against her palm.

“That’s great … but I don’t think I said I wanted you to _tell_ me.”

She slides a single finger inside Laura. A single finger, slipping in so easily, slipping in and not moving.

And it doesn’t take Laura long to grasp the object of this game. Her fingers curl around Kara’s shoulders and she rocks against Kara’s finger, taking it in as deeply as she can and thrusting, straining to get all she can from the single unmoving finger that is nowhere near enough but that is obviously all she is going to get for now.

By the time she speaks the flush has spread, brightening her entire body.

“Kara, please … “

“Please what?”

“More. Please.”

Kara has to force herself to wait a single beat, has to restrain the urge to have two more fingers buried inside Laura before Laura’s plea is fully spoken.

Her words accompany a second finger joining the first, drawing a moan from low in Laura’s throat. “I like that I didn’t have to tell you to beg this time.” She doesn’t even try to sound smug. There are times when she knows her limits. The tenderness of Laura’s “frak you” acknowledges the affection that smugness could never overcome.

And now Laura is frakking her hand in earnest, shoving her hips against it and clenching around them, clenching so fiercely that Kara anticipates a soreness that will bring a grin to her lips as she operates the controls of her Viper for the next several days.

Laura’s knees are braced firmly against her waist, gripping her as she pushes and gasps, and Kara cannot resist, curls her fingers in just slightly, just enough to add a sudden bit of friction _right there_ as Laura grinds, and that tiny movement is rewarded handsomely, rewarded with a widening of Laura’s eyes, a clenching of Laura’s jaw as she bites back a moan so ragged that Kara imagines, unfettered, it would have more resembled a howl.

“Oh gods Kara that’s so good … please more, please please please … please touch my clit, please … “

Kara cannot quite tell if Laura’s nails are at the point of drawing blood from her shoulders, does not quite care because it’s good, good like the sight of Laura, glistening now, whimpering as she takes in a third finger immediately followed by a fourth, takes them in easily and bears down against them, bears down toward Kara’s thumb that is touching her clit with a gentleness that has Laura straining forward, the rhythm of her hips changing as she tries to get everything she wants, everything right frakking now.

And Kara lets Laura work, lets her cry out in frustration as the rhythm that her clit wants does not satisfy her need for Kara’s fingers and vice versa, and Kara’s hand is still unmoving as she watches, rapt. Watches until Laura releases her shoulders, causing a sudden burning rush of circulation, and Kara gasps from the sensation, her sharp breath then held fast by the sight of Laura raising her hands to her own nipples and teasing them, the movements of her hips growing faster, rougher, quirkier as her expression grows frantic, wild, feral.

All that it takes is the firm, rhythmic circles of her thumb against Laura’s clit, the pattern pulling a growl from Laura that is as immediate as the change of her thrusts, her hips free now to focus on Kara’s fingers.

With this it is not long before Laura comes. She comes shaking, leaning forward and keening, her body beating like a heart around Kara’s fingers, clenching and releasing with every pulse of pleasure. She looks into Kara’s face as she lets go, meets Kara’s gaze, and the rawness in Laura’s eyes as she comes is so intimate that Kara isn’t entirely certain she will remember how to breathe when this is all over. She comes roughly, jerking and spasming and writhing shamelessly against Kara’s hand, the chaos of her trembling a sharp contrast to her voice’s steady, rhythmic beat of “so good, so good, so good … “

She relaxes gradually, stray jolts still shooting through her as she slows, pulling her breaths with both hands, finally raising herself up, off of Kara’s hand, and promptly collapsing at Kara’s side.

For a long time they are quiet. Kara’s arm curls around Laura’s back and her fingers comb absently through Laura’s hair. Laura’s palm slides lazily back and forth against Kara’s stomach.

For a long time they are quiet.


End file.
